Lois & Clark & Silver & Bruce

By Phil Atcliffe

Prologue: One dark (K)night...

Gotham City was, according to some, misnamed -- but not very
much; it should have called Goth*ic* City. The people who held
that opinion had probably seen the city's... *forbidding* skyline
against a background of thunderclouds from one of the storms that
frequented that part of the east coast of the United States at
certain times of the year. The combination of the city buildings
and lightning-lit clouds could produce a dark, brooding panorama
that was often compared to scenes from early black-and-white
horror movies, but carried more conviction and had a more
powerful effect especially on visitors to the city -- because it
was real.

On this particular night, the clouds from such a storm were lying
heavily over the city, threatening to unleash another torrent of
rain on the already-wet streets. The citizens of Gotham were used
to this, and many didn't mind because the first downpour had at
least relieved the tension that had built in the hot, humid
atmosphere before the storm.

Other Gothamites actually found the storm-clouds useful; a case
in point could be seen at the moment: as a giant searchlight
mounted atop the police headquarters building projected an image
into the sky as a message for the city's most mysterious son. The
image, vividly reflected by the low cloud-base, was a circle of
light, in the middle of which was the black shape of a stylised
bat...

Superman could see the Bat-signal in rather greater detail than
other people, not only because he had telescopic vision, but
because he, too, was up amongst the clouds, flying over Gotham
City. He looked around and saw where the beam was coming from,
then flew down to land on the roof of the police building. He
touched down a few yards from a thick-set, grey-haired man with
heavy glasses and a bristling moustache, who was scanning the
surrounding area of the city, obviously waiting for something --
or some*one*.

Superman walked over to the man, who was hunched up inside an
elderly raincoat and using the searchlight for some protection
against the cold wind, and said quietly, "Commissioner Gordon, I
presume?"

Gordon didn't immediately react visibly, although Superman heard
his heart rate jump. Superman supposed that he must be used to
shocks, especially mysterious appearances and disappearances,
considering whom he-- they *both* were here to see.

Eventually, Gordon turned around to regard his visitor, outwardly
cool as a cucumber, and said, with just a trace of surprise in
his voice, "Superman? What brings *you* to Gotham?"

"I was just passing. A... social call, you might say. But when I
saw your signal, I thought I'd better see if you could use any
help. Is there anything I can do?"

"Well, I was hardly expecting you to turn up, but I'd be a fool
to turn you *down*. I have a situation here where you could be of
great help. Do you mind if we wait for Batman, though -- I'd just
as soon not go through it all twice."

"Fine. Gotham is his -- and your -- city. I don't know much about
it, or anything about this 'situation'. You're the experts, so it
makes more sense for me to simply put myself at your disposal."

"That's good to hear." The voice -- strong, quiet, confident --
came from the deepest shadows. Superman whirled to face those
shadows; Gordon didn't. Instead, he relaxed slightly, a certain
tension seeming to leave his body, to be replaced by an
eagerness, an anticipation... a metaphorical girding of loins, if
you will.

The speaker stepped out of the shadows, although, without
super-vision, a person on the roof might have thought that the
shadows themselves had moved. The dark blue and grey-black of the
Batman's costume was only relieved by the yellow-gold of his belt
and the small oval surrounding the bat-symbol on his chest, and
the swirl of the cape as he moved masked most of that. All in
all, it looked to be an almost perfect outfit for moving unseen
in the dark, and Superman imagined that the sight of the man
appearing out of the night's blackness could well paralyse a
crook with fright --which, he guessed, was the idea. It certainly
would be hard to come up with a bigger contrast with his own
bright primary colours.

Batman nodded to both men but made no move to shake hands, nor
did he offer any words of greeting. For his part, Superman
decided that matching the restrained silence of the other man
might be wise; for one thing, he didn't really have anything
specific to say. He'd come to Gotham to meet this man, but
getting-to-know-you conversation didn't seem to be appropriate at
the moment. Maybe after they'd sorted out Gordon's "situation",
there'd be time for small talk and, say, a quiet chat about the
difficulties of keeping a cape unwrinkled in the middle of a
street fight.

Batman met his eyes coolly -- Superman couldn't detect anything
in the masked man's expression other than the merest hint of
polite surprise and interest in his presence -- then, all
business, turned to Gordon to ask, "What's the problem, Jim?"

Gordon's answer was short and almost curt. "Magpie."

"Ah... The Faberge collection at the Fluggelheim, no doubt."

"You got it. She ambushed a party of VIP patrons getting an early
preview of the exhibition, but one of the guards managed to trip
the silent alarm. We've got the building surrounded, but she's
holed up in the centre of the museum with a dozen wealthy
hostages, demanding that we let her leave with her loot or...
well, you can guess the rest. Our SWAT teams are ready to go in,
but from the amount of firepower that's come out of the building
in the few exchanges of shots so far, she must have more than
enough men to hold them off long enough to carry out her threat.
We can take the building all right, but it'll be a bloodbath."

"Yes... and we both know Margaret -- she *will* carry out that
threat unless she gets away with her toys."

Batman and Gordon began to look at a map of the museum and the
surrounding area and consider plans for dealing with the
situation. Listening to them talk together, Superman was struck
by how their minds worked. There was a remarkable rapport between
the two men; their minds seemed to run along the same channels,
at least as far as crime-fighting went, and they had the knack of
striking sparks off one another, generating ideas that were
examined in minute detail, then quickly and decisively adopted or
rejected, in whole or in part. He was reminded of... himself and
Lois, of all people. Although the discussion between the gruff
police commissioner and the taciturn man in the dark cape was
quite different from conversations in the Planet newsroom -- or
at one of their apartments, or in Lois' jeep, or just about
anywhere for that matter -- between himself and his fiancee, the
*process* was very similar. And, it seemed, equally effective.

Gordon beckoned him over. "Superman, we've got the beginnings of
an idea on how to deal with Magpie's hoods, but it depends on
your powers, and we've only got news reports to judge those by.
Let me describe what we've got in mind, and then you can tell us
if you think it'll work..."

***

Margaret Pye -- "Magpie" -- was a criminal mastermind in the long
and... glorious? tradition of such figures in the history of
Gotham City. Like her contemporaries -- the Joker, the Penguin,
Two-Face, amongst others -- her brilliant, but twisted intellect
was accompanied by more than a little mental instability and an
assortment of idiosyncrasies taken to extremes.

In her case, these took the form of a murderous obsession with
bright, shiny, "pretty things" -- jewels, objets d'art and the
like in a not-dissimilar manner to the bird from which she took
her nom de guerre. So it had been a real wrench for her to have
to sell some of her treasured "collection" in order to pay for
extra men to help with this, her latest and greatest coup.

However, Margaret wasn't stupid by any means and knew that, with
hired muscle, you got what you paid for. So, since she was
expecting to have to go up against the Batman and the best that
the cops had, she *had* to have men with brains as well as brawn,
and they cost big. She simply hadn't been able to steal enough
cash in time, so it meant sacrificing a few of her less prized
pieces for their monetary value. It hurt -- it hurt a *lot* --
but not being able to get her hands on the Faberge collection
would have hurt even more, and maybe she could steal the lost
pretties back afterwards...

Her strategy was quite a good one. She was holed up in the centre
of the museum with the hostages, her loot and six of the toughest
and nastiest of her own men. The rest of her underlings, together
with the hired muscle, were patrolling in pairs around the
central part of the building. Everyone was armed, except the
hostages.

The idea was simple: since the initial snatch-and-grab raid had
failed, she was prepared for a siege. The hostages would prevent
a frontal attack, and the cops wouldn't risk that anyway because
she had too many men with too much firepower for it to work. For
her part, she was quite secure where she was, and had no
intention of trying to leave until the cops granted her safe
passage -- which she expected them to do eventually, especially
if she sent a hostage or two out in little pieces.

Batman might -- almost certainly *would* -- try to sneak in, but
she'd set things up so that even *he* couldn't make it
undetected; she had too many men, and they were working in teams,
always covering one another. They were expecting him, anyway, and
with a little luck, *he'd* be their biggest and best hostage. The
cops would *have* to let her out with her lovely new toys if she
threatened to kill *Batman*...

Margaret would have gone insane (well, more so) with fury had she
realised that all her sacrifice, all her planning had suddenly
become much less effective than she intended, if not totally
useless. Those expensive goons were now ranged against much
tougher opposition than she was expecting, and it remained to be
seen if she had, in fact, wasted her money...

***

Throughout the museum, the same scene was played out over and
over again: a pair of patrolling thugs would step out of direct
sight of their nearby comrades -- they weren't supposed to, but
the layout of the exhibits made it nearly impossible for them to
stay visible *all* the time, and their first mistake was also
their last; there would be a quick rush of wind, and their
weapons would vanish; caught by surprise, they would hesitate,
just for a moment; and in that short period of hesitation, a
nearby shadow would come alive and one of the mystified pair
would fall, hit by a fist or a foot that would flash out of the
darkness like a black thunderbolt. What happened next depended on
the temperament of the remaining goon: some would leap to the
attack, only to receive the same type of blow as their partner on
the floor; others would turn and start to run away, usually
opening their mouths to yell a warning, in which case the
would-be alarm-raiser almost instantly found himself running into
something rock-hard while a powerful hand clamped over his mouth
and another, equally powerful hand pressed on a certain spot on
his neck. Either way, there would be another brief rush of wind
and the two crooks would be deposited in one of several
steadily-growing piles of bodies in the back of the police vans
outside the museum.

Eventually, one of the gunsels became suspicious when he realised
that he hadn't seen a fellow "guard" for some time. He called to
his partner to cover him while he began to check nearby doorways
into other rooms and corridors for his missing comrades -- if
they *were* missing...

His search didn't get far, because two sharp cracks and the
tinkle of shattering glass sent him diving to the floor. From
outside the building, the chatter of rapid gunfire heralded what
had to be a major police assault on the museum. Yells and curses
announced the other hoods rushing to take up defensive positions
at windows and entrances, and the searcher and his mate raced to
do likewise, scrambling towards their assigned locations. Only
when they were settled in, guns at the ready to repel the
invading cops, did they have time to look around and discover
that their fears had been justified -- there weren't anything
like as many men ranged along the walls as there should have
been! And where were the guys covering the side entrances? His
eyes swept the darkened hall, almost desperately searching for
his absent team-mates, but another furious barrage >from outside,
followed by a cry of pain from one guy about ten feet away, had
him ducking for cover...

***

Commissioner Gordon moved from officer to officer, keeping his
head well below the level of the improvised barricades. As he
reached each policeman -- or woman -- in their prone firing
position, he would gently but firmly grab his or her shoulder and
murmur a few words of caution and encouragement. He'd already
congratulated the two snipers on their usual pin-point accuracy
in breaking the two windows without damaging any of the museum
exhibits, and then wounding one of the crooks, and warned them to
be alert for any more of the gang in an exposed position; now, he
just wanted to make sure that the rest of his people were well
under cover and ready for anything. This was a dangerous
situation, made even more so by the fact that their job was to
act as a diversion, and Gordon didn't want his "men" -- for,
slightly old-fashioned as he was, that was the way he thought of
them, even the women (none of whom, however, could ever have
complained of any discrimination from their boss; to him, a cop
was a cop) -- getting hurt. That he, as the single figure moving
about, was potentially in more danger than any of the others, was
something that didn't even occur to him, nor would he have done
anything different if it had.

This unconscious bravery was typical of Gordon, and his
subordinates thought the world of him for it, even as they wished
that he'd back off a bit. This whole business was nerve-racking
at the very least -- firing *blanks* at hoods who were shooting
back with live ammo seemed crazy, but the boss and the Bat-guy
had set this up, and that was a pretty darn good recommendation.
Now, if the Commissioner would only keep his head down...

***

Inside the museum, something finally clicked in the mind of the
crook who'd noticed the drop in the numbers of his colleagues. He
swung his gun away from the cops outside to cover the shadows of
the room -- or some of them, anyway; to his mounting horror, he
realised that there were so *many* shadows... so many places to
hide for the one who must be responsible for this mess -- and
yelled, "Forget about the cops! It's a set-up! Look for Bat--"

That was as far as he got before disappearing in a rush of wind.
Startled faces turned to look at the empty space where he had
been, and the looks on those faces changed to near-panic when
that quiet, strong, confident voice spoke from *somewhere*: "He
was right, you know."

Before anyone could react, the room erupted with small explosions
and the gunmen lost sight of everything, even each other, as the
space around them filled with black, choking fumes.

All hell broke loose -- at least from the point of view of the
hoods. They couldn't see; they could barely breathe, and most of
them were racked by coughing fits -- those who hadn't already
succumbed to the fumes and collapsed -- and they couldn't use
their weapons; there was nothing to shoot *at*, and they were too
smart to fire blindly into the smoke, because they'd most likely
hit each other. Each man was isolated >from everyone and
everything else, and the only relief came in the form of a fist
or a foot emerging from the murk to slam its target into
unconsciousness.

It didn't last long. Less than thirty seconds after the smoke hid
the inside of the building from sight, the watching police were
startled to see it stream out of the windows in long, dark
tendrils, then climb into the night sky to dissipate high above
the city.

Silence reigned over the museum plaza, broken only by a rush of
wind from the clouds. Commissioner Gordon signalled to the SWAT
team, who moved carefully towards the building. In perfect
formation, they crossed the plaza and entered the museum,
covering each other as they went, but no shots came from the
building. Finally, the team leader came out of the entrance and
radioed Gordon. "Outer perimeter secure, sir. There's about a
dozen perps in here, but they're all out cold and secured, and
their weapons have been rendered useless. No sign of our friends,
though."

"Right," replied Gordon. "Drag 'em out, Lieutenant, then proceed
to your inside positions." He stood up and called out to the
remaining police, in a quiet but carrying voice, "Stage One
complete. Move in!" He then began to walk towards the entrance to
the building. Behind him, policemen and women picked themselves
up and followed, a few to take charge of the unconscious gunmen
from the SWAT team, but most to join their boss in the dark maze
of the museum.

***

Margaret had been looking at some of the latest additions to her
collection -- for that was how she already thought of the looted
Faberge exhibits -- when she heard the gunfire outside. She made
an odd noise, half growl, half groan, at the interruption; why
couldn't they let her enjoy herself for a little while before
they gave up and let her go with her lovely "pretties"? You'd
think that they'd have realised by now that she was going to
*win* this one...

After the shots and cries had died down, she pulled out a
walkie-talkie. If the cops were getting frisky, maybe it was time
to prove that she meant business. First, though, she needed to
find out what was going on. She tried to call one of the "squad
leaders". No response. Then another; still no response. And
another. The silence was deafening. The final one -- no more
success than she'd had with any of the others. "Hmmm..." she
murmured to herself.

One or two of her long-time henchmen looked at each other when
they heard her, and worried. When the Boss used *that* tone of
voice, it usually meant that she was about to do something
crazy--*nasty* crazy. It might be directed at them, or the
hostages, or the cops; there was no way to tell. All you could
say was that *someone* was gonna get it! The problem was, half
the time, when the Boss got nasty, it worked, and she got her
way; the other half... well, it could also make a bad situation a
lot worse.

Magpie did something to her radio, then spoke into it again.
Across the room, one of her other henchmen, who'd been diligently
watching the hostages just the way she'd told him to, jumped when
his walkie-talkie barked at him. "Boss?!" he yelped, looking over
at her, his voice half an octave higher than normal, "Wh-whaddya
want, Boss?"

Margaret waved dismissively at him. "Don't worry, Biff -- I just
wanted to see if this thing was working." Her eyes narrowed for a
moment, and then she began to address her men. "Listen up, boys!
I can't get through to any of the outside guys, so we're going to
have to assume that they've been taken out, by the cops or
Batman. So-oo-oo..." She paused for a moment to look around the
room, scanning the huddled figures of the hostages with eager
eyes that suddenly held more than a hint of madness. "So," she
repeated, "we're just going to have to show them that we're not
bluffing..." Something about the way that she said that made her
captives shudder, and more than one of her "boys" felt a shiver
go down his own spine, coupled with no small amount of relief
that the Boss' craziness was (probably) going to be visited on
the marks this time.

She strolled around the group of hostages, occasionally reaching
down to grasp a face and turn it to the light while she thought
about... something. No-one knew what she was thinking about;
those hostages who watched her or were forced to look at her
could see nothing in her face but the fringes of madness, and her
men didn't even bother to try to work out what their boss had in
mind; she didn't appreciate second-guessers -- she'd tell them
what to do when she was ready.

After two or three circuits of the hostages, Margaret seemed to
suddenly reach a decision. She jumped around her captives and
seized the Hon. Mrs Eugenia Welling, a middle-aged woman who
represented one of Gotham City's better-off districts in
Congress. Mrs Welling was dragged to her feet and forced to stand
at something like attention. The woman stared at her captor with
wide, nervous eyes, not unlike a rabbit confronted by a snake.
The analogy became even more marked when Margaret's arm shot out
quickly to brush across Mrs Welling's face, a sharp, whip-like
motion very similar to that of a snake striking. The
Congresswoman felt a brief stinging, as though something had
scratched her cheek, and went to lift her hand to the wound --
only to find that she couldn't. In fact, she couldn't move at
all, not even to scream her horror and surprise at this sudden
paralysis.

The horror was to get worse. Although she couldn't move, she
could *be* moved, both in part and bodily. Her arms were forced
up and made to hold a package of explosive tightly against her
body, then she was picked up by Biff and carried over to the
doorway. Two of the gunsels turned their weapons on the door,
ready to cover Biff as he went to undo the bolts holding the
heavy doors shut before leaving the room with Mrs Welling...

Biff didn't even get to touch the door bolts; instead, the doors
smashed open, crashing into him and sending him sliding across
the floor, out cold. The hoods covering the doorway, the only
ones who were looking in that direction, had the briefest glimpse
of a figure clad in red and blue, standing out brightly against
the shadows in the background, but before they were even sure
that they'd seen it, much less been able to open fire, it
disappeared in a blur and they were fighting to stay upright
against a blast of wind.

Something else came in with that wind; several small somethings,
to be exact, and none of the crooks noticed them. But they soon
found out that they were there, because the same choking, acrid
smoke as had decimated the "outside guys" belched forth from the
exploding capsules, filling the room and hiding everyone and
everything from sight.

The three remaining gunmen, standing towards the back of the
room, were the last to be affected by the smoke, and, in
accordance with Margaret's orders (because it did *not* pay to
mess up when the Boss had told you what to do) they raised their
Uzis and prepared to "hose" the hostages. Before they could fire,
however, one of them was unconscious and another dropped his
weapon, yelping in pain as the stock became red-hot; the third
managed to pull the trigger, but the first and only shot that he
got off was deflected by the sudden interposition of a broad
chest. The shooter recognised the red-and-yellow shield blocking
his line of fire and got as far as whispering in a horrified
tone, "Oh, sh--" before joining his two comrades in merciful
oblivion, courtesy of a steel-hard fist.

Elsewhere in the room, their comrades were faring no better. The
two covering the doorway had barely registered the presence of
the red-and-blue intruder before they were nearly swept off their
feet by the accompanying wind, and before they could recover from
that, the billowing smoke swept over them, disorienting them
instantly. Their discomfort didn't last long, however; the smoke
proved to be a mere harbinger of a worse fate, as dark, winged
shapes emerged >from the blackness, trailing filaments of
blackness to wrap around them, immobilising them. A sharp yank on
the thin cables that entangled them and their weapons pulled them
off their feet, and they quickly found that their legs had been
deftly tied as well. They couldn't move and they couldn't see
more than a few inches, and the only target for the guns now
strapped to their chests was each other, so, sensibly, they gave
in and relaxed on the floor, quite helpless.

Margaret, by contrast to her underlings, was still free and
active. She was also incandescent with fury. She didn't
understand how he'd done it, but Batman had *somehow* managed to
ruin her plan. She knew that her men were out of commission, and
her only option was to escape. She'd grabbed a couple of the
exhibits, so the evening wasn't a total loss, although her heart
ached at the thought of what she was having to leave behind.
However, to get away with even these few treasures, she'd have to
distract the cops and Batman, and she had just the thing for
that. Two could play at the gas game, and who knew -- it might
even hurt them the way that having to leave all the beautiful
things here was hurting her.

She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a large, almost
spherical object, attached to which was a small gas mask. She
quickly pulled the mask over her head, but before she covered her
mouth and nose, she couldn't resist having her say. "Oh,
Batman..." she trilled -- well, it would have been a trill but
for the hate in her voice, which soured her tone to a harsh rasp
-- "Here's a pretty bauble for *you*... and those *charming*
patrons of this museum."

She fitted the mask over her face and tossed the spheroid into
the gloom of the smoke. It landed with a loud thud out of sight
somewhere on the parquet floor and began to sputter. Then, with a
hiss that sounded very like a roman candle, it released a plume
of gas that shot to the ceiling of the hall and began to spread
out into the room.

Of course, the smoke meant that only Superman could see the gas;
perhaps Batman might have been able to detect it, too, if he
happened to be wearing infra-red goggles, but he couldn't do
anything about it. Superman, whose super-senses told him that the
sickly green fumes were a fast-acting poison, could, though. He
flew up to the ceiling, calling out, "Gas! Everyone keep your
heads down!"

He was pleased to see that the hostages all obeyed. Batman, of
course, was intent on catching Magpie, and was wearing his own
breathing gear anyway. Superman left him to it; right now, he had
to get rid of that gas. He took a deep breath, drawing the gas
and the smoke, which had served its purpose, into his lungs. It
only took a few moments, and then he flashed out of the room, and
out of the building, to release the noxious fumes into the air
high over Gotham Harbour, incinerating them with his heat vision
as they streamed from his mouth.

He flew back down to the museum, returning to the exhibition hall
to see Batman handing a handcuffed ('Bat-cuffed?' he wondered)
Magpie over to the Gotham SWAT team, who were also picking up the
unconscious forms of her henchmen and untying the former
hostages.

"Yuk!" complained Superman, touching down next to the other caped
figure. "Why can't anyone ever come up with a poison gas that
tastes good? Or better than *that*, anyway?"

"I don't think taste is a big consideration in chemical weapons
design."

"You're telling me..." Superman shook his head in disgust and
looked around at the hall, which showed the inevitable signs of
the evening's events: the walls had a sprinkling of pock-marks
high up where the invading crooks had fired a few shots to
impress on the people in the room that they meant business;
several display cases had either been broken into by Margaret or
had been smashed in the brief fracas, and the exhibits were all
over the place; there was a thin deposit of smoke particles on
almost everything; and the large double doors had been forced
open, damaging the bolts and part of the doors themselves.
"Hmmm..." he grimaced, "I hope the museum trustees don't complain
too much about the damage to the building."

"I wouldn't worry about that," replied Batman. "Considering the
alternative, they're more likely to be glad that their exhibits
weren't stolen and none of the patrons were hurt. One or two
might make a fuss on principle -- there are would-be politicians
everywhere -- but I know at least one member of the Board who
would be prepared to pay for repairs himself if the City and the
insurance companies don't come up with the cash."

'Oh, really,' thought Superman to himself, grinning inwardly.
'Now, I wonder who *that* might be...'

Outside the museum, it wasn't long before the erstwhile hostages
had been put into ambulances and the last of the thugs was
bundled into the now-crowded GCPD vans, all of which drove off
immediately. Once Margaret had also been loaded into a squad car,
closely guarded by two female SWAT team members, Commissioner
Gordon came over to thank the heroes before turning back to his
men and the final clean-up of the crime scene.

"He seems like a good man," remarked Superman as Gordon bustled
away.

"Jim's the best. A dedicated, caring, old-fashioned cop -- the
kind every force wishes it had, but few do. Although I hear good
things about your Inspector Henderson and Captain Sawyer."

"Yeah, Bill's great. Gordon reminds me of him, actually -- same
kind of commitment to the city and his job, and especially to his
people, I guess. Maggie -- well, what can I say about the woman
who invented the Special Crimes Unit concept? She's unique."

"So I understand. But then, she's had to be..."

By now the police cordon was being lifted, and sounds of bustle
and running feet indicated that the media were about to arrive en
masse. The caped figures exchanged glances, then, acting in
perfect concert, lifted off or swung away from the approaching
horde, eventually descending unseen into the shadows atop a
nearby building.

Batman watched the disappointed reporters and cameramen mill
around for a few minutes before sorting themselves out to film
"talking head" pieces in front of the museum or pull out portable
phones. Then he turned to his companion to ask, "So, what brought
you to Gotham tonight? I heard you tell Jim it was a... social
call?"

"Yes. I was looking for you, actually."

"Really? What made you suddenly decide to meet me... socially?"
The Batman's voice was quietly and dryly amused, but also
definitely curious.

"There's a long story behind that. Lots of them, actually."
Superman grinned, remembering Alan Scott and Jay Garrick, and
their huge fund of stories about their lengthy careers as
super-heroes on a parallel Earth. "Let's just say for now that it
was suggested to me that it might be a good idea for you and I to
get acquainted. Things were quiet in Metropolis, so I took the
opportunity to visit Gotham City and have a look around. I
thought I might find you at work, so to speak, but I wasn't
expecting anything quite of this magnitude."

"True. This was unusual, even for Gotham. However, I'm more
interested in who would suggest that you and I should meet, and
why."

"That's part of that long story. But it was someone who had
reason to believe that we might work well together -- and I think
we made quite a good team, don't you?"

"Yes..." The voice was now thoughtful and reflective. "Yes, we
did. It's a little surprising, given the differences in our
methods and public profiles."

"Oh, I don't know; maybe that's *why* we worked so well as a
team. I do know that it took both of us to handle Magpie and her
army. I don't think I could have dealt with the problem by myself
without a much greater chance of the hostages being hurt, and,
with all due respect, neither could you."

"I... have to agree. Margaret isn't stupid, for all her
obsessions, and she was expecting me. Things could have happened
very differently. Thank you for the help."

"Glad I could *be* of help."

Superman looked out over the city. After a moment, he asked
diffidently, "Would you mind if I told some reporter friends of
mine about tonight? The story will be going out across the
country any minute now, and it would add something to their take
on it if I could give them a few quotes." There was no immediate
answer, so he waited for a minute before continuing, "I can
assure you that they're responsible journalists. You might have
heard of them -- Lois Lane and Clark Kent..?"

"Ah, yes. I know of Ms Lane and Mr Kent. They're said to be among
your closest friends; I take it that those reports are correct,
then."

"You could say that..."

"I could. I might also say that a man who can call his wife-to-be
and partner his best friend is truly fortunate."

Superman froze at that, then slowly turned to look at the man in
the dark costume. Batman met his gaze with eyes that were coolly
steady but held a twinkle of warmth. The two heroes stood
motionless and silent for several moments, before Superman
finally spoke. "Well... I see your reputation as the World's
Greatest Detective is well-earned," he said ruefully, tacitly
acknowledging the unsaid truth of Batman's statement.

"Perhaps... It's not a title I lay claim to -- it was hung on me
by the Gotham media -- nor do I particularly care for it; there's
always someone out there, on either side of the law, who sees it
as a challenge, and I'm not sure which is worse: would-be rivals,
or crooks plotting the perfect crime!

"In any case, I knew that it would be impossible to keep *my*
identity secret from you, should you ever decide to look for it
seriously. I might wear a lead-lined mask, but I can hardly line
the entire Bat-cave with the stuff, nor would it do me any good
if I did -- I imagine that a large cavern that you couldn't see
into would be rather conspicuous?"

Superman nodded. "You're right. That's something that more than a
few crooks out there never seem to understand; I can't see
through lead, but I can *see* it just fine."

"Yes, well, most crooks are stupid, for which we should be
thankful, I suppose. The few with any intelligence -- like
Margaret are quite enough to handle as it is. But, getting back
to you and I, having realised my own vulnerability, I did a
little pre-emptive investigation. It wasn't easy; you and your
family did a good job keeping your secret, but the clues are
there if one is prepared to go back far enough -- to, say, 1966.
A certain government department was a big help in that respect."

"Don't tell me..." interrupted Superman. "Bureau 39, right?"

"Of course. Jason Trask may have been a paranoid, but he was an
excellent investigator and his files were remarkably
comprehensive. *And* something of a challenge to access."

"I'll bet..." replied Superman dryly. "I can't even imagine what
kinds of security that madman would put around his precious files
--I'm surprised that he ever let them be put on a computer in the
first place."

"So was I. You may be interested to know that they're not there
*now*. In fact, Bureau 39 has completely vanished from all
computer networks. I'm fairly sure that their disappearance has
nothing to do with my activities; the entire bureau seems to have
shut itself down and gone underground about 18 months after Trask
was killed."

"Hmmm... thanks for telling me that. I'll have to keep my eyes
open." Superman was lost in thought for a few moments. "Both
x-ray and electronic. I have a friend at the Daily Planet who'd
just love to know how you cracked Trask's security."

"That would be Jimmy Olsen, no doubt. I've heard that he's quite
a hacker."

Superman's eyebrows rose. "You *are* well-informed..."

"It goes with the territory. I'd be interested in talking to him
some day. I'd like to know more about Jaxon Xavier's virtual
reality set-up -- not to mention his experiences with the NIA."

"You'll have to come and visit Metropolis sometime, then. I can't
promise you anything like this in the way of entertainment..." He
gestured, indicating the museum and the rapidly-dwindling police
presence in front of it. "...but I ought to be able to arrange
for you to meet Bill and Maggie. Jimmy will go nuts when I tell
him that *Batman* wants to swap hacking tips with him! And I can
tell you all about who suggested we meet, and why."

"I'll look forward to it. Shall we say sometime next month? I
have to be in Metropolis then, on... business." At Superman's
nod, he went on, "I'll see you then, Clark."

"Me, too. Goodbye -- for now... Bruce."

With that, Superman gently rose into the air, paused to sketch a
friendly salute to the man on the rooftop below, and headed back
towards Metropolis and Lois. Boy, did he have a story to tell her
tonight!

Batman remained where he was for a few seconds, musing over the
unexpected happenings of the evening, not least of which was the
strange feeling of having met someone who was, at the very least,
a colleague worthy of respect, and quite possibly much more. Then
he moved suddenly and melted into the night-time shadows of the
city he loved, and was gone.

***

A few years later...

"Lois! Good news!" Clark called out as he walked across the
newsroom of the Daily Planet offices.

His wife looked up, smiled as always when she saw him, and
replied, "Yeah? Tell me." She looked at her computer terminal and
pulled a face. "I could just do with some *good* news about
now."

"I just heard from Alfred -- Bruce will be in Metropolis next
week for a couple of days."

"Great! We haven't seen him since... that thing with the Gotham
Werewolf a couple of months ago." Lois sat back in her chair and
looked up at her husband, now perched on the edge of her desk.
"So, what brings the billionaire playboy to town?"

"Some sort of international investment conference. Actually, from
Alfred's tone of voice, I think it's a case of either this or
'Master Bruce' gets hit over the head and kept under sedation for
a month or so."

"Oh, dear. Has he been burning the candle at both ends *and* in
the middle *again*?" Her voice suddenly became very, very soft,
the merest whisper -- which made no difference whatsoever to
Clark's ability to hear her. "And I thought Superman had it
bad... Poor Bruce. I know he *has* to do the Bat-thing, but I
sometimes wonder just how long he's going to be able to keep
going."

Clark's voice also dropped, to a low, growly whisper which Lois
could hear but no-one else would be able to follow. "Me, too,
Lois. Which is why Alfred wants us to make sure he relaxes a bit
while he's in Metropolis. No playboy stuff, no heroics, just a
little time to himself to unwind."

"Ooohhh," Lois groaned quietly, "He makes that sound *so* simple.
I wish."

"Yeah," said her husband dryly. "Sometimes, getting Bruce to
relax really *is* a job for Superman." His voice became a little
stronger. "But I promised to try. Hmmm... Maybe we can drag him
away from that conference for a picnic or something."

"That's a good idea. Bruce is so... urban, that some time in the
country..." Lois mouthed "Smallville" before going on, "...could
be just the thing." She became thoughtful. "I wonder if Lindsey
knows anything about this conference."

Lois got up and went over to another desk nearby. She talked for
a moment to the young, blonde-haired woman who was sitting there,
then came back to Clark with a pamphlet in her hand. "Here we
go," she said. "I thought Lindsey would know about anything
important in the financial world. She really is a whiz at her
stuff."

Clark looked across the newsroom at the woman, and he appeared to
be giving her the once-over. "Hmmm... I wonder if she likes
picnics..."

Lois' eyebrows shot up. "Why?"

"Well... it occurred to me that we'd have a better chance of
getting Bruce away from the city if we could promise him some
congenial company. That playboy image of his isn't *all* an act,
you know."

"True... but would he find a reporter -- a financial reporter at
that -- the right sort of company? I mean, Lindsey's young,
nice-looking and all, but she's still at the *intense* stage, and
hasn't quite learned to let go yet. I don't know whether she
could cope with a purely social encounter with Bruce Wayne,
billionaire financier and playboy..."

Lois' voice trailed off as she looked at Clark's face. She had
been expecting a little gentle teasing about her own bulldog
tendencies, but instead he looked... stricken? "Clark? What's
wrong?"

"Oh, boy..." he muttered. Lois recognised the tone, and began to
*really* worry. Clark never had that downward-inflected note in
his voice unless there was a genuine problem -- like, say,
finding that she suddenly had his super-powers, courtesy of the
Newtrich sisters and their red kryptonite laser.

"Clark! What's the matter?"

Clark started and returned to Earth from wherever he'd been
inside his head. He looked over at Lois with an almost mournful
expression. "We have a problem, Lois. I was just wondering
whether I should advise Alfred to dope Bruce after all..."

This confirmed Lois' deductions regarding the existence of a
problem but was no help in informing her as to its nature.
"Clark," she said, her voice becoming sharper, "Just what *is*
this problem? Make with the details, huh?"

"Oh... sorry. I was just reading this brochure about the
conference, and then I saw who was running it..."

Lois looked at the pamphlet. It was the usual glossy fare,
extolling the importance of the forthcoming conference and the
comfort and luxury of its setting. Finally, she saw what Clark
must have been referring to; right down at the bottom of the back
page, in small type, were the words: "Conference facilities and
organisation provided by St Cloud Conferences, Inc." She raised
her eyes to meet Clark's. "So? Who are 'St Cloud Conferences,
Inc.', and what do they have to do with Bruce?"

Clark looked unhappy. He quickly scanned the newsroom and
noticed, as usual, that several of their colleagues were
surreptitiously watching his wife and himself, and, no doubt,
trying to listen in to their conversation. He sighed.
Lane-and-Kent-watching had been a favourite pastime of many of
the newsroom staff ever since he'd been partnered with Lois; this
preoccupation of the Planet grapevine had waned slightly when
they got married, but there were still plenty of their colleagues
who took a keen interest, both personal and professional, in
their doings. Which made it hard, at times, to discuss important
things at work that weren't suitable for public consumption.

He made a quick x-ray vision check on Perry White, and was
pleased to see that their editor was busy holding forth on
something to Jimmy Olsen, no doubt embellishing it with anecdotes
>from the life of the King of Rock and Roll. Since this was
liable to keep both men busy for some time, Clark felt safe in
whispering to Lois, "Let's get out of here, and I'll tell you all
about it."

Lois needed no further urging; she grabbed her coat and they
headed for the elevator together. They ended up at the Fudge
Castle, a choice of Clark's that made Lois even more concerned
because it seemed to indicate that he thought that she might need
emotional reinforcement, and that *he*, her preferred source of
this, even ahead of chocolate, wouldn't be able to supply it.

As they sat together, sharing a Chocaholic's Overdose, Clark, who
had lapsed back into a reverie, suddenly seemed to realise that
Lois was more than a little troubled. He hastened to reassure her
that there was nothing for her to worry about -- about the two of
them, anyway. "I'm just concerned about Bruce, that's all. You
see, St Cloud Conferences, Inc., is Silver St Cloud, and Silver
St Cloud is an... old friend of Bruce's."

"Is *that* all? Clark, half of the women in Gotham City are 'old
friends' of Bruce Wayne! Especially the attractive, unmarried
ones!"

Lois was so relieved that her half-formed fears were groundless
that she was perhaps a little slow to realise that Clark wouldn't
have been worried if this woman had just been a passing fancy.

"I know, Lois... but Silver was different. You may laugh, but do
you remember about... oh, three years ago, when we didn't hear
from Bruce for about six months?"

"Yes..." she replied hesitantly. "Didn't he go undercover or
something?"

"That was the excuse he gave us, but he wasn't very convincing.
Bruce seemed even bleaker in himself than usual, so I asked
Alfred about it. He said that Bruce had become very close --
*really* close -- to Silver, so much so that she had guessed his
double identity. And she couldn't cope with the knowledge.

"Bruce had to deal with the Joker -- that surreal Joker-Fish
business, from memory -- and Silver saw them fighting on a
construction site. It was the usual vicious game of
catch-me-if-you-can that that madman specialises in, and, even
though Bruce won -- that is, he survived, and the Joker was hit
by lightning and fell into the Gotham River -- it was too much
for Silver. She loved him, but she couldn't deal with the thought
of spending her life waiting for him to come back, night after
night, never knowing if some maniac, or even just some lucky
punk, would kill him and leave her waiting...

"That really hurt Bruce. Alfred said that there'd been something
about his voice when he talked to Silver on the phone that had
never ever been there before. Alfred's exact words were, 'I
remember wondering if Miss St Cloud was *the* one... And perhaps
she was.'"

"Oh." Lois was quiet for a few minutes, thinking hard. She could
now understand why Clark was concerned for his friend, and she
had to admit that she had become a little anxious herself. She
liked Bruce and didn't want to see him unhappy -- well, more so
than he usually was; Bruce, for all the superficial gaiety that
was part and parcel of his playboy role, always felt to her as
though he had an air about him of great sadness, which could
change in an instant to tremendous anger. Lois had once
introduced him to her former neighbour, Starr, and the normally
voluble psychic woman had shut up immediately and looked like
someone had hit her over the head with a sledgehammer. She'd only
stayed a few minutes before making an excuse and leaving; when
Lois had seen her later, she'd apologised but said flatly that
she couldn't stay in the same room with "that man" -- it seems
that the negative vibes that he gave off were just too much for
her.

More than that, however, Lois Lane the reporter was astonished by
the idea that Bruce Wayne, acknowledged expert on both women and
the care and maintenance of a secret identity, had managed to let
down his guard sufficiently for someone to penetrate his double
life. 'There must be a hell of a story there,' she thought. 'I
can't print it, but I'd sure like to know how she did it...'

She asked Clark, who had also been silently thinking, "What
happened, Clark? Bruce is so good at the secret identity bit --
how did this Silver woman find out?"

Clark looked at his wife and smiled reminiscently. "Well, in some
ways it was rather like you and me, Lois. Bruce let Silver get
close to him, and she was smart enough and cared enough to
realise that her boyfriend was the Batman when she encountered
him in costume. Alfred thinks she recognised his jaw; apparently
she would spend a lot of time looking at it when they were
together. There must be something about jaws..." He reached over
to caress her face in that special way, and she leaned into it
happily.

"As to *why* he let her get that close -- well, Alfred says that
it was part mutual attraction and part circumstance. Bruce first
met her at a party on his yacht. The whole party was a cover for
Batman to work on a case, but Bruce met Silver before he had to
disappear for a while, and the two of them just clicked. About
that time, the Gotham City Council went on one of its periodic
anti-Batman crusades -- Rupert Thorne was behind this one -- and
Bruce was under that bit more stress because of it. Then Silver
got mixed up in something to do with Hugo Strange -- as it
happened, she saved Bruce's life by getting Dick involved -- and
one thing led to another. Before either of them had time to
think, they were deeply in love. Bruce was trying to work out
what to do about it, but then a running battle with Deadshot
ended up in a convention that Silver was organising, and she
recognised him.

"She didn't say anything, though, so Bruce wasn't quite sure if
she knew or not. They hemmed and hawed around the question for a
couple of days; he couldn't ask her if she knew, and she wasn't
prepared to admit that she did know until she'd thought it all
over. Then the Joker struck and Bruce was on 24-hour call. He
didn't see Silver for a day or so, and then she turned up at the
construction site and told him that she didn't want to see him
again. She loved him, but she couldn't live with the danger in
his life. And that was it -- until now, maybe."

"Ah... So, what do we do?"

"I don't know that *we* do *anything*. It's none of our business.
I'll tell Alfred, and he can decide if he thinks Bruce should be
warned -- if he doesn't know already. Other than that, all we
*can* do is look forward to a visit from a friend. If Bruce wants
to talk about anything, he knows we'll provide a sympathetic ear
-- four of them, if need be."

"I guess you're right..." Lois sounded sincere, even to Clark,
and she was -- but, in the back of her mind, she made a private
resolution to keep her eyes open for this Silver St Cloud person;
she wanted to see, maybe meet this woman, and just *maybe* there
might be something that she could do to help Bruce... In the
meantime, there were other things to think about. She scooped up
the last of the sundae and grinned mischievously at her husband.
"Okay, so how do we keep Perry happy this morning? I *don't*
think he'll take coming here to talk about Bruce's love life as a
legitimate use of our time..."

"You have a point," Clark replied, smiling back. "Let's see... I
could..." He made their flying hand signal. "...around and see
what's happening around the city. A Superman story is always good
for a paragraph or two."

"And what do *I* do while you're..." Hand signal.

"Well, you could come along. It's a nice day for a flight..."

Lois' grin became an enthusiastic, slightly dreamy smile. A
flight with Clark in the morning sun, the prospect of another
story about him helping people, and something intriguing to think
about for a week or so before doing a little personal
investigation... what more could a girl -- *this* girl, anyway --
want on a working day? Life was *good*! She got up, as did Clark,
and they strolled out into the street, hand in hand.

***

The following week...

Lois looked around the room at the milling throng. The Grand
Ballroom of the Metropolis Hilton was near to overflowing with
bankers, brokers and wealthy investors, various spouses, partners
and escorts, plus the PAs, junior executives and assorted
hangers-on attached to any or all of them. The crowd around the
bar was particularly thick, and Lois was sure by the way that
they were pouring booze down their necks that some of the
conference attendees had no intention whatsoever of actually
*attending* any of the sessions; to them, this was merely an
opportunity to get stinking drunk on an expense account.

She turned to her companion. "Is it going to be like this for the
entire conference?"

"No," replied Lindsey. "This is just the normal welcoming bash.
Although..." Her voice trailed off and she surveyed the scene
from their mezzanine vantage point with the air of a connoisseur.
"...I guess it is a bit wilder than I would have expected. Looks
like there are more of the out-of-town cirrhosis junket brigade
than usual..."

"The *what*?" laughed Lois.

"The cirrhosis junket brigade -- you know, the kind of people who
come to these things because they can have a holiday on an
expense account and claim it all off their tax returns. We don't
get many of them in Metropolis; they tend to go for the beach
spots, and Hobbs Bay can't compete with Miami or Hawaii." Again,
she paused, and for a moment looked a little unsure of herself.
Then her expression blanked out and she assumed a reporter's
poker face that could have stood comparison with Lois' own, and
she went on, "To be honest, Lois, I would have classed your Mr
Wayne as one of that lot..."

Lois had managed to convince Lindsey to let her tag along to the
conference welcoming event by saying that she might be able to
introduce the younger woman to Bruce Wayne, and *maybe* even get
him to give her an interview. Lindsey had her doubts, but the
opportunity was too good to pass up; she just wondered what Lois
was going to want *her* to do in return.

What she didn't know was that she was, in effect, already doing
it. Lois was scanning the crowd, searching for a familiar face --
Bruce -- and for someone whom she only knew by reputation, namely
Silver St Cloud. She had quickly spotted the distinctive ID
badges that the St Cloud Conferences, Inc. employees wore, and
now she was looking for a woman with one of those badges who
looked like she might be the boss. Lois just hoped the woman was
here; it had taken a lot of careful planning and more than a
little subtle manipulation to get herself here tonight, including
landing Clark with a ton of work that would keep him at the
Planet until nearly midnight -- something for which she knew
she'd have to apologise; fortunately, she had a few ideas as to
*how* to apologise that should soothe his ire (and would be a lot
of fun, too) -- so it would be a real pain to have gone to all
that effort for nothing.

"Well, that just goes to show that that old saw about not judging
books by their covers was right," Lois replied in her best
I-am-top-banana-listen-and-learn manner. "And he's not *my* Mr
Wayne -- I just happen to have met him once or twice. But one
thing I could tell from meeting him: when he plays, he plays
hard, but when he works, he works equally hard. Besides, *he*
hardly needs to worry about an expense account; if he wanted to
be on the beach in Florida, he'd *be* there! So, if he's come to
Metropolis for this conference, then I think it's a good bet that
he wants to be here, don't you?"

"Okay..." agreed Lindsey, feeling somewhat squelched and rather
surprised by Lois' spirited defence of Wayne. "How *did* you meet
him, anyway?"

"Oh, through a... connection," said Lois, not really paying
attention because she thought she might have found who she was
looking for. There was a tall blonde woman circulating around the
edge of the room, and Lois was almost certain that she was
wearing a StCCI badge. That *had* to be her!

Meanwhile, Lindsey was mulling over Lois' words. 'A "connection",
huh? That sounds like Lane-speak for Superman. Which figures --
who *else* could introduce Lois to so many people?

'I wonder what Clark thinks of his wife's relationship with
Superman. Might he be jealous? Nah... I've seen those two
together; Lois is totally *gone* over Clark. Besides, Clark is
supposed to be Superman's best friend. Some people have *all* the
luck...'

She sighed to herself. 'That's the city beat for ya. I wonder if
there's a Super-Accountant out there who'd be interested in a
*financial* reporter...'

However, in lieu of a handsome hero in dark tights with a grey
cape swooping down to carry her off, she decided that she'd
better do some work. She'd already seen a number of attendees
that it would be worth her while to collar and get some quotes
from, so she turned to Lois, saying, "I gotta get to work, Lois.
If you find Mr Wayne, *and* he's willing to talk, I'll be over by
the buffet. Looks like some other real money-men are eating here
tonight..."

With that, she strolled away, concentrating on whom she was going
to try to ask about what, and where she could go with what they
might answer. Because she was concentrating so hard, she didn't
notice that Lois was equally preoccupied, taking off briskly in
the opposite direction as soon as Lindsey had moved away.

Lois strode down the staircase to the ballroom floor at a rate
that had various business-suited types coming *up* the stairs
dodging hastily as she charged past. Had she been observing one
or two of them, she might have been amused -- or angry, depending
on her mood -- to see how their initial reaction to seeing her,
which was composed of equal parts of "Wow, look at that!" and "I
wonder what's she's doing after this is over", changed incredibly
rapidly to something approaching panic as they threw themselves
out of her way lest she walk right though them. As it was,
however, she was more interested in not losing her quarry and
didn't even notice, thereby quite possibly avoiding turning the
function into an all-in brawl.

She paused just before reaching the end of the staircase and cast
one final searching glance around the room, mentally locking onto
the blonde woman currently moving towards the bar before plunging
into the herd and losing sight of anyone more than a few feet
away.

She made her way towards where she hoped to corner her target,
employing her usual method of getting through crowds in a hurry.
This had been likened (by her husband) to someone hacking their
way through a jungle, but using stiletto heels instead of a
machete; Lois herself described it as "lean, push and wriggle,
and stamp on their feet if they won't get out of the way." It
wasn't a particularly *nice* technique, but even Clark had to
admit that it was undeniably *effective*... In any case, it got
her to the bar quickly enough.

Or, at least, to the vicinity of the bar. The bar itself was
surrounded by the cirrhosis brigade, packed three to five deep,
and even Lois' crowd technique couldn't get her through *that*
lot. Not that she was interested, anyway; she was working --
well, sort of as was the person she'd come here to see, which
meant that alcohol was, if not off-limits, something to be
consumed only if there was no way to avoid it. And the people
round the bar were hardly attractive drinking companions -- not
that *anyone* here was, compared to sharing a glass of wine, or
even a beer, with Clark.

Lois dragged herself back to the present, away from beguiling
memories of precious, private times with her husband, and other
fun occasions together, with and without friends, and looked
around. She moved to one side of the bar and checked along its
length, then strolled to its other end, checking the entrance
alcoves. There was no sign of the woman she was looking for, and
she was sure that she would be able to spot the tall blonde even
over the heads of the massed topers.

'Blast,' she thought. 'Now where the heck did she go?' Lois
stepped back, prior to casting around the ballroom for another
sight of the vanished woman, and bumped into someone. She turned
quickly, apologising as she did so, polite but determined to keep
any interaction with this person as short as possible, especially
if it were male.

It wasn't. It was a tall, slim woman with pale, almost
platinum-blonde hair piled elegantly on top of her head. Indeed,
"elegant" was a good word to describe the overall impression that
this woman made, from her graceful carriage and minimal but
skilful make-up and hairdo, to the simple but expensive ball-gown
that would have had Lois drooling in envy had her attention not
been riveted on the ID badge now visible up close. It was, as
Lois had suspected, a conference staff badge, and the elegant
(there was that word again) printing on it read: "Silver St Cloud
-- CEO, St Cloud Conferences, Inc."

"Ahhh..." breathed Lois in an anticipatory, triumphant manner,
leaning forward. It took considerable self-control for her not to
lunge at the woman and grab her in something like a hammerlock
before she could get away. Ms St Cloud stepped back a little,
somewhat taken aback by the intensity that showed in Lois' eyes.

Lois realised that this was not the time and place to pounce on
someone, particularly someone whom she wished to ever-so-subtly
turn inside out, so she made an effort to assume a calmer
demeanour. "Hi," she said, holding out a hand. "Lois Lane, Daily
Planet. Sorry if I startled you -- I've been looking for you, and
just when I finally managed to track you down, I thought I'd lost
you in this crowd." She waved a hand, indicating the crush around
the bar, and, indeed, everywhere in the room.

"Oh..." said a bemused Silver St Cloud, fine eyebrows up,
clasping the proffered hand with a pleasantly firm grip. "May I
ask why you were looking for me so desperately?"

"Well, not *desperately*..." Lois laughed, hoping that she hadn't
made a bad impression on the woman. "It's just that you're
obviously pretty busy running this thing, and I thought that
tonight would probably be the best time to catch you while you're
in Metropolis, so when I saw you a few minutes ago, I..." Lois
paused for a second, trying to find a diplomatic way to say this,
then decided to say it anyway. "...guess I pounced." She cast a
rueful, what-can-you-do look at Ms St Cloud, who, to Lois'
well-hidden relief, smiled.

"I see..." she replied, sounding for all the world as though she
did -- although *what* she saw, Lois couldn't say, that
"explanation" sounding all too close to a typical Lane Babble for
comfort. "Well, in that case, what did you want to pounce on me
for?" she went on smoothly, as though being pounced on was all in
a day's work.

'Time for the cover story,' Lois thought. "Ah, well, I'm planning
an article-- a *series* of articles, actually," she hastily
improvised, "on successful businesswomen, and you certainly
qualify. Also, I gather that this is your company's first event
in Metropolis, and I can think of a number of angles relating to
that that'd be interesting to explore. How does working here
compare with Gotham City, is this conference a harbinger of a
move by you into a new position on a national scale -- that sort
of thing..."

Ms St Cloud pondered that for a few moments, but, before she
could say anything, another conference staff member appeared and
whispered in her ear. She nodded, and the man left as quietly as
he had come. She turned back to Lois. "You must excuse me for a
moment, Ms Lane; duty calls."

Lois nodded "understandingly", cursing inwardly all the while,
and watched with frustration as the woman began to follow her
employee. However, before she'd got more than a few steps away,
she stopped, threw a mischievous glance over one shoulder and
said, "Oh, but don't worry -- I *will* be back, so you needn't
start hunting for me. Perhaps if we arranged to meet in, say, 20
minutes, over by table number 49?"

Lois hastily agreed to this and bid her good-bye -- for now. Once
the crowd had closed behind the tall, blonde figure, Lois also
moved away; she wanted to locate the table in question, and was
doing some hard thinking herself as she went.

Lois had to admit that she was impressed by Silver St Cloud. The
woman just oozed class, looked fantastic, and the background
check that Lois, with Lindsey's help, had managed to run on both
her and her company showed her to be as competent as she was
spectacular --in a quiet, understated sort of way. She didn't
push herself forward, nor did her company, but somehow, when
people at the top of their particular trees thought about
organising a professional event in or around Gotham City, the
name of St Cloud Conferences, Inc. was one of those which was
regularly brought out for consideration. And, more often than not
these days, the company got the job. >From being almost unknown
five years ago, StCCI was now one of the leaders of its field, at
least locally, and was doing very nicely, thank you, as far as
profitability went.

Ms St Cloud herself also seemed to have this ability to pass
unremarked -- as she had tonight, moving around the ballroom
quietly checking that all was well, unhindered even by the junket
brigade, despite her looks -- until she decided that she wanted
to be noticed, at which point she was most definitely *there*,
and no-one, or at least no-one whom she wanted to have an effect
on, could possibly ignore her.

This reminded Lois of someone, and it took her a minute to work
out who -- it was *Clark*, of course! He had exactly the same
knack of lurking in the background and then coming forward when
he wanted to -- except, of course, that he rarely wanted to push
himself into the limelight unless he was in the suit, and he
wasn't particularly fond of it even then. In fact, he could do
with a few lessons from Ms St Cloud on self-promotion, although
he was a lot better at it than he had been when they'd first
met.

Lois forced herself to ignore past history -- not difficult,
because she still cringed at how close she must have come to
driving Clark away, so many times, in the early days; thank God
he was persistent -- and turned her mind back to Silver St Cloud.
Yep, she was a pretty impressive person and, at least
superficially, Lois couldn't have thought of a better potential
partner for Bruce Wayne if she'd sat down to design one herself.

As she mused over that, Lois finally located table 49. It was
obviously a spare table, meant for use only if the number of
guests overflowed the main dining area, but it was also a perfect
place for a reasonably private conversation -- all the "action"
was taking place towards the stage end of the ballroom, where the
bar and buffet were. All one could see of the rest of the room
was a sea of backs, but no-one was looking over here, either.

Lois flopped into a chair with a sigh of relief; crowds didn't
normally bother her, but this one was absolutely choc-a-bloc. The
only person she liked being forced to get *that* close to was
Clark! She looked at her watch; if she lived up to her promises,
Silver ought to appear in the next couple of minutes.

Lois suddenly sat up, startled. 'How come I'm thinking of her by
her first name?' she thought. 'Boy, this woman is dangerous --
she's even got *me* charmed...

'Of course, that must mean that she *wants* to charm me -- I
imagine that she could choke off an unwanted conversation just as
easily. Hmmm... I wonder what she wants.'

Lost in thought, Lois didn't notice the approach of another
figure, a tall, dark-haired man in faultless evening dress and
with a slightly bored expression -- at least, until he saw her.
Then, a smile broke out on his handsome, rugged face, completely
changing his whole demeanour. He quickly, but quietly, walked
over towards Lois. His shadow fell across her face and she raised
her head. "Hello, Lois," said Bruce Wayne.

Lois' brain locked up. This didn't happen often, but, on
occasion, she'd find herself caught in a situation where she
couldn't explain what she was doing, didn't have a cover story
and, for some reason, couldn't bluff her way out with sheer
chutzpah and fast talking. In such cases, she found that her mind
tended to go blank while it desperately sought a solution or, at
the very least, prayed for one to miraculously materialise. It
was exceedingly rare these days, now that she'd met Clark -- who
was somewhat miraculous himself, and was about as good as one
could possibly hope for in the way of someone to help her get out
of the more dangerous examples of this kind of situation -- but
it was happening *right now*. She was torn between delight at
seeing Bruce and horror at the thought of Silver St Cloud
suddenly appearing while he was here, and there was *no way* that
she could explain that she was there to indulge her curiosity
about the woman who'd apparently captured his heart three years
ago and then dumped him because she couldn't cope with his alter
ego...

She managed to blurt out "Bruce!" in a startled, half-strangled
squawk that was *very* un-Lois Lane-like. He looked at her with a
concerned frown that said all too plainly that he didn't need to
be the World's Greatest Detective to tell that something was
wrong. She groaned inwardly before attempting to rescue the
situation with a babble that she tried desperately to make sound
normal: "How lovely to see you! I mean, I knew you'd be here, but
it's so crowded that I didn't think I had a chance of *finding*
you, at least not until more of that lot--" She waved at the
collective backs of the people in the room. "--left, sat down or
passed out on the floor. Clark's going to be *so* sorry that he
missed you, but the poor dear's up to his neck in work --
research, re-writes, even a bit of copy editing that Perry asked
him to do -- and I don't suppose he'll get away until very late,
maybe eve n after midnight..."

As she rattled on, Lois realised that she'd just said goodbye to
any hope she'd ever had of concealing from Clark that she'd been
here tonight, but she figured that that was a fair exchange if
only she could keep Bruce from running into Silver St Cloud -- at
least, at *her* instigation; Bruce would just have to take his
chances during the rest of the conference, but Lois didn't want
to be responsible for causing either of them any pain due to her
own machinations.

She finally ran down and Bruce smiled at her in some amusement.
He had joined Clark as a connoisseur of the Lane Babble over the
last couple of years, and this was a prime example; the question
was, what had produced it? Why was Lois so nervous? He decided to
do a little gentle probing, just for the fun of it. "So, what
brings half of the Daily Planet's top investigative reporting
team to an event like this? Meeting a source? Looking into some
financial misdeeds?" Despite himself, Bruce's tone became a bit
more serious as he continued to casually list possible targets
for "Lane & Kent" -- after all, anything that the two reporters
were working on could well involve criminal activity, and that
was his or, rather, his alter ego's -- business. And *that* he
took very seriously...

'Oops,' thought Lois, calling on all her self-control to maintain
what she hoped was a pleasant outward facade, 'Cover story time
again. Hope he buys it.' "No, nothing like that. Nothing so
interesting. I've been landed with one of Perry's bright
ideas..." She mentally apologised to the editor for this calumny,
and prayed that he'd never hear about this; he certainly wouldn't
from *her*. "...An article about successful business types from
out-of-town moving into Metropolis, and this seemed like a good
chance to meet a few likely candidates. Or, it *would* be if they
weren't all packed around the bar," she added sarcastically.

She decided that she had to end the conversation; if she could
get away from Bruce, then hopefully he'd move away from this part
of the room and she could double back to make her rendezvous with
Ms St Cloud. She got up and stretched a little, surveying the
room. "The crowds were so bad that I came over here to catch my
breath," she began. Then, changing her tone to "resigned", she
continued, "But I guess I'd better get back to it. It's great to
see you, Bruce, but you know how it is..." He nodded and she went
on, encouraged, "Don't forget to ring us... tomorrow? You know
Clark is looking forward to seeing you, and Martha sent us a
fruitcake last week, so you've *got* to come and help me stop
Clark from stuffing himself with it. Okay?"

"Okay," he replied. Lois didn't let him get another word in,
telling him again that she had to get back to work and saying so
long for now. Then she turned and headed for the crush of people
filling the room...

....just in time to see Silver St Cloud emerge from the crowd and
head in her direction.

"Here I am *finally*, Ms Lane..." Her voice trailed off as her
line of sight moved past Lois to take in the man standing next to
the table, and she paled. *Really* paled, until her face almost
matched her hair. Her eyes were huge, and for a moment Lois left
off cringing internally to wonder if the other woman was going to
faint on her. She didn't, however -- she just stood there,
sylph-like and unmoving. After a few moments that seemed like
ages to Lois, and were probably even longer for Ms St Cloud, she
half-raised one hand towards Wayne and managed to murmur,
"Bruce?"

Lois turned, with some difficulty, away from the woman to look at
Bruce -- and promptly wished she hadn't made the effort. Unlike
Silver St Cloud, his face was blank -- but it was the blankness
of a sheer cliff, of a concrete dam. Even worse, though his face
was as expressionless as a rubber mask, his eyes and body
language were anything but. His eyes *blazed*, and somehow, he
was managing to frown with his entire body. It was very subtle
and incredibly intimidating -- at least, up close; Lois had the
feeling that anyone more than a couple of feet away would see
only a man in evening dress chatting to a couple of women. All
very pleasant, and utterly misleading.

"Ms St Cloud," replied Bruce in the coolest, most nonchalant
voice that Lois had ever heard *anyone* use, with the possible
exception of Lex Luthor. "Nice to see you again."

'And if you believe *that*...' Lois thought. His voice was oh, so
pleasant, but neither woman could possibly kid themselves that he
meant what he said.

"A-And you," replied the other woman unsteadily. She recovered,
at least partially, fairly quickly and went on, "It's been a
while."

"Three years," Bruce said in a pleasant, cool tone that almost
casually conveyed the sub-text that he'd have preferred it to
have been three *hundred*, if not longer. He surveyed the scene
around them with a careless, indifferent gaze that would have
confirmed Lindsey's opinion of him, but that Lois knew was the
most studied of artificial poses. "I take it that your people are
organising the conference?" he asked, equally lightly, so
obviously making polite conversation.

"That's right," said Silver, making an effort to match his
coolness. "Our first major effort outside Gotham City. What do
you think?"

"Oh, it's well up to the mark; a truly professional job,
everything meeting the highest standards of such events -- what I
would expect from you, really."

There was something about the way that Bruce said the word
"professional" that would have made Lois wince were she not
keeping an absolute clamp on her best reporter's face. And what
he had then gone on to say had to be the most pointed example of
damning with faint praise that she had ever heard. What made it
worse was that his praise was not faint by any means, and Lois
was fairly sure that he meant it -- it was just that the *way*
that he said it carried undercurrents that she didn't fully
understand (although she could make a few guesses, based on what
Clark had told her earlier) but that were the expression of a lot
of pain, and were also intended to pass some of that pain on --
specifically to Silver St Cloud.

Bruce looked around again and apparently caught sight of someone.
He turned back to the two women and said, ever so politely, "You
must excuse me; it's been lovely to see you again, but I must
talk to Lucius, and I've just seen him. Please accept my
apologies for... running off like this."

The women nodded, there not being much else that they *could* do,
short of accusing him of abandoning them; he returned the nod (or
was it a small bow?), murmured, "Ms Lane. Ms St Cloud," and left,
vanishing into the crowd with practised skill.

'Whew!' thought Lois. But any relief that she might have felt was
quickly forgotten when she looked over at Silver. She had gone
white again; Lois guessed that Bruce had slipped a final barb in
before leaving -- probably something to do with "running off" --
and she yet again cringed behind her bland outward expression at
the unhappiness that she had caused, however inadvertently.
Feeling that the other woman needed something to distract her,
and yet unable to leave well enough alone, Lois asked, "You know
Bruce?"

Silver's head snapped around so fast that Lois half-expected to
hear a whip-crack. Her eyes were large and there was a... hunger
behind them that was startling in its intensity. But it was only
visible for a second and was soon replaced by a professional
blankness. The even, untouched expression didn't extend to her
voice, though; that unsteadiness was back, at least at the
beginning, as she replied, "Y-yes. We were... good friends, some
years ago, in Gotham City. But we... lost touch -- busy with
work, that sort of thing -- and this is the first time that I've
seen him for quite a while."

"Yes, so you said," said Lois. "Funny that you should run into
him *here*, in Metropolis, of all places."

"Yes. Strange..." murmured Silver, her voice trailing off as she
became lost in a private reverie. After a few moments of silence,
which Lois didn't interrupt, she remembered where she was and
dragged her attention back to the present, and to her companion.
Her eyes narrowed slightly and Lois noticed that the hunger was
back as Silver asked, "I-if you'll forgive my curiosity, how do
*you* come to know Bruce?"

"Through a mutual friend," said Lois pleasantly. 'Well, that's
true enough,' she thought. 'Bruce is Clark's friend (and mine),
and Clark is still-- will *always* be -- *my* best friend...' "I
met him... oh, it must be four or five years ago by now, when he
came to Metropolis on business." 'Bat-business, that is.' "We
keep in touch, and drop in on each other when he's here or Clark
and I are in Gotham City."

"Clark?"

"My husband." Lois held out her left hand, showing her rings. Was
that a touch of relief in Silver's eyes? "Also my partner at the
Planet." 'Not to mention best friend, lover, soul mate, man of my
dreams and personal superhero... God, I love that man!'

"Oh..." Silver looked as though she would have said more --
congratulations, small-talk-type questions about marriage and
work but something seemed to have closed down her capacity for
conversation, because she remained silent for a few moments
before finally managing to force out, "Ex-excuse me, Ms Lane. I'm
*really* sorry, but I've just remembered some things that I have
to do -- for the conference." She looked as though she was about
to rush off, but then, perhaps recognising that Lois' interview
would be useful publicity for her company, turned back and
continued, "Perhaps we could get together before the conference
ends -- say, tomorrow?"

"That'd be fine," said Lois, realising that this arrangement
suited her as well. For one thing, it gave her the opportunity to
see Ms St Cloud again, if she wanted to, and a perfect out if she
didn't; all she had to do was not make an appointment. "I'll call
you and we can work out a time."

"Fine," replied Silver. She took out a business card, wrote on it
with a pen, and handed it to Lois, saying, "The number on there
is my mobile phone -- it'll get you straight to me. Heaven only
knows how long it might take you if you tried to go through the
hotel and convention staff."

Lois laughed at that, appreciating the gesture, and the two women
separated.

They didn't get very far from one another, though, before a
commotion outside the ballroom entrance caught their attention,
and that of most of the nearby crowd. There was a muffled cry of,
"Hey, you can't go in--" which was abruptly cut off as the ornate
double doors crashed open under the impact of a flying body --
the unconscious, bleeding body of one of the hotel's uniformed
security guards.

The fallen guard was followed by several gun-toting figures
wearing the obligatory "uniform" of jeans and black leather
jackets, plus balaclavas to hide their faces. Despite the attempt
at disguise, Lois recognised a scar on one guy's wrist; it
belonged to one Johnny Malone, leader of the SSlum Lords, one of
Suicide Slum's toughest gangs, which meant that the others had to
be gang members as well. This was not good...

Her apprehension only increased when she got a better look at
what the intruders were carrying. Each one had either a sawn-off
shot-gun or what looked like an assault rifle, and two or three,
including Malone, had handguns stuck into their belts. They
probably had knives, too, since these were pretty much standard
equipment for gang members. Some of them had a bank bag slung
over one shoulder, and the bags looked full. The gang must have
held up the hotel, or possibly the conference organisation, or
maybe both.

"Awright, you guys," yelled Malone, "Get over there, now!" He
gestured with his rifle towards the bar end of the ballroom,
indicating that the crowd should move away from the gang, and the
entrance. For a moment, everyone was too surprised by the sudden
appearance of the invaders to react, so Malone waved at one of
his troops, who lifted his shotgun and fired one barrel into the
ceiling, bellowing, "MOVE!"

*That* got a reaction; the ranks of business people and their
hangers-on began to obediently shuffle away from the menacing
group of armed intruders. They couldn't move very fast because
the crowd was quite thick, and the only way that people at the
front could do as they had been ordered was for it to become even
thicker at the back, and that was a slow process, a sort of ooze
not unlike that of molasses.

Lois, who was doing her best to look like she was moving with the
rest of the crowd while at the same time trying to ensure that
she didn't get pushed away from the action, just hoped that
Malone and his cronies realised that they *were* being obeyed.
Suicide Slum gangs were not noted for their patience, and it was
all too likely that someone could get hurt or killed because some
idiot with a gun decided that this dense crowd wasn't moving fast
enough.

Thinking about moving fast inevitably brought Clark to mind;
she'd give a lot to see that familiar blur flash across the room
right now, leaving a trail of helpless goons behind it. But her
silent plea was not answered, and her beloved hero in the
red-and-blue suit was nowhere to be seen.

Lois stumbled, falling against a couple of businessmen as a
further thought startled her: speaking of heroes, where was
*Bruce*? But then she realised that he was probably trapped in
the crowd, unable to slip away and change, so she guessed that
there was no likelihood of Bat-intervention. Which left it up to
Clark. 'Come on, sweetheart. We need some help here...'

Seconds dragged by, though, and no Superman. Lois began to wonder
if she could somehow contact him by using her mobile phone, but
before she could make much of a plan that way, Malone started
yelling again. "Okay, okay, a couple of you rich types are gonna
come with us, to keep the cops off our back. Behave yourself and
nobody's gonna get hurt... much." The last word was said with a
contemptuous sneer that Lois longed to wipe off the creep's face,
but now was not the time for that.

Malone looked around and pointed his rifle at three of the women
on the edge of the crowd. "You, you and you -- get out here."
When the women hesitated, partly from surprise and fear, and
partly because each one was hoping against hope that he hadn't
really meant *her*, his voice became a wheedling croon. "C'mon,
baby -- we're goin' for a little ride, and then we'll have some
fun..."

If this was meant to entice them, it was a disaster. The women
shrank back, horrified by the idea of "having fun" with Malone,
and the gang leader lost his temper. "Awright, you stupid
bitches!" he screamed, "Get out here, or I'll blow your goddamned
heads off!" He would have signalled to some of the gang to grab
the chosen hostages, but his attention was caught by a small
movement above him... and a voice.

"I don't think so, *punk*!"

Before Malone could react, his rifle was yanked from his hands by
a cable that shot down from an open skylight and wrapped itself
around the stock. The rifle disappeared into the rafters of the
ballroom, but not before it swung across the room, an impromptu
pendulum that hit two of the nearby thugs in the head, knocking
them both to the ground.

All the gang members looked up at the skylight in surprise, but
there was nothing to be seen -- at least, now. Before they could
work out what that meant, a crash of breaking glass behind them
announced the arrival, through a second skylight, cape spread
like huge wings, of the Batman.

His descent to ground level was cushioned by landing on top of
one of the gang, which "kindness" put the thug in question out of
action for the duration. Then, like a streak of dark lightning,
he was among the others, rolling, kicking, punching -- and what
he hit went down. Some -- very few -- of the tougher gang members
managed to get up again, but those that did stayed down after
being hit a second time, which usually happened quite quickly.

Lois didn't think it was possible for the tightly-packed crowd to
get any closer together but, to her surprise, the people nearest
the fight managed to draw back a bit more. This was a good idea
but, unfortunately, it also gave the remaining thugs more room to
manoeuvre; Batman's attack had been so swift that he had been in
amongst them before they'd caught up with what was going on and,
perhaps surprisingly for street punks, this had kept them from
using their guns as anything other than improvised clubs, lest
they shoot one another. Or maybe it was just that they liked the
idea of a brawl, not realising that allowing Batman to get in
close practically guaranteed a trip to dreamland.

However, as their numbers went down, so opportunities to get a
shot at their attacker became more likely. One or two guns
barked, but they either missed or simply had no effect on their
target. Lois, as fascinated a spectator as any of the
conference-goers packed together behind her, saw that Bruce's
body armour was doing its usual job; she also saw that he had
been very careful not to get between any of the gang and the
civilians, so that a careless shot could not hit anyone else.

This realisation brought her attention away from the fight and
back to the gang leader standing a few yards away. Malone, once
he had overcome the petrifying surprise of the Batman's initial
appearance and attack, had managed to draw his handgun, but he
couldn't get a clear shot until the last of his cronies went down
and stayed that way.

Batman dropped the unconscious body of the thug that he'd just
knocked out and looked towards Malone. "It's over," he said, in
the quiet, forceful voice that was a part of his costumed
persona. "Make it easy on yourself and drop the gun."

"No way, freak!" screamed Malone, more than a little
hysterically. "You got them, but you won't get me!" With that, he
brought the gun up and fired twice...

Lois' perception of time *changed*. She was never able to say
what it was about that moment in that place, but the world seemed
to slow down for her -- *right* down -- and she could almost
*see* the bullets leave the gun and fly across the room towards
the man in the mask. As Malone had raised the gun, so Batman had
lifted his own arms into a martial arts posture, where they also
protected his vulnerable jaw. The first bullet bounced off a
reinforced glove and thunked into a rafter. The second, fired
slightly lower than its predecessor, ricocheted from a different
part of the same gauntlet and shot back towards the crowd. To her
horror, Lois *knew*, though she couldn't say how or why she knew,
that the slug was headed straight for Silver St Cloud.

And there was nothing she could do about it. Her perception and
knowledge were not matched by equally-swift reflexes, and she
began to turn towards the woman, agonisingly slowly, all the time
*knowing* that the sight which awaited her would be a bloody
corpse...

Except it wasn't. The world snapped back to its normal speed, and
Lois found herself staring at a broad male chest in blue with
that famous pentagonal shield emblazoned on it. The sense of
relief was overwhelming, and it took considerable self-control
for her not to run over, throw herself into his arms and collapse
against that chest in sheer joy at seeing him.

Clark, she could tell, was equally relieved that he'd got there
in time, although he could have no idea who it was that he'd just
saved. He was also, if his eyes were any guide, distinctly
surprised to see *her* there, but Lois had long ago (or so it
seemed to her) accepted that she'd have to explain herself to him
but later, at home, by themselves.

Behind him, Silver St Cloud had that familiar breathless
expression that so many people -- especially women -- got when
Superman flashed into action. Lois didn't think that the woman
could have had any idea of how close she'd come to severe injury
or death, so the lack of breath had to have more to do with his
sudden appearance and... well, the sheer *presence* of the man
when he wasin the suit.

Then Lois looked at Batman, and gasped involuntarily. He was
looking towards Clark, but his gaze was fixed on the woman behind
him. Other than the intensity of his stare, his face -- as much
as could be seen of it, anyway -- was blank, emotionless. But
Lois saw it change. Somehow, he too had *known* what would have
happened had Superman not arrived just then, and the rage that
appeared as this knowledge sank in was literally terrible to
behold. Others in the crowd also saw the change in him, and they
shrank away from the grey-and-blue figure -- their saviour, who
had, in an instant, been transformed into a creature from the
worst depths of nightmare.

What made it all the worse, Lois thought, was that he didn't make
a sound. Not a word, not a grunt, a groan or a growl, not so much
as the merest hint of a whisper. Nothing. But the expression on
his face, and especially the look in his eyes, said it all.

Lois knew that Bruce had adopted the guise of the Batman to throw
fear into criminals -- as he put it, "a superstitious, cowardly
lot" -- but, had he been able to assume at will the face that he
was currently showing to the world, and particularly to Johnny
Malone, he wouldn't have needed to bother with the mask and cape.
Of course, since he was wearing them both at the moment, the
effect was only heightened.

Malone, who, a moment ago, had been angry and scared, but
jubilant as he fired, striking back at the source of his anger
and fear, at the legend who had flattened his gang like a
harvester in a wheat field, now bore the look of a man who has
seen Hell -- and who realises that it is *coming* for him...

The sudden appearance of Superman might have explained his
appalled gaze, but he didn't seem to have even noticed the
arrival of the hero. His attention was locked on the *other*
caped figure, and what he saw had him trembling with fear as the
object of his horrified obsession slowly but relentlessly
advanced towards him...

He raised his gun again, but his hand was shaking so hard that he
couldn't hold it steady enough to fire. Then he screamed and
dropped it as the barrel began to *melt*... It was obvious that
Superman's heat vision was responsible for that -- obvious, that
is, to everyone but Malone, who was now transfixed, staring at
the approaching Batman in the certain knowledge that he *was* a
demon >from Hell; hadn't he just used hellfire?

The demon came closer, but Malone couldn't run, couldn't move. He
just stood there with agonised horror distorting his face as he
watched, helplessly, the apparition advance on him, coming
nearer, ever nearer... His heart pounded, but his muscles
wouldn't obey what little will he had. Trapped in
"fight-or-flight" mode, but with his brain screaming that he had
no chance of doing either, it became too much for Malone and he
fainted, falling silently, almost gracefully, into an untidy heap
on the carpeted floor.

Batman stood over the unconscious gang leader, staring down at
him. The hero's face was now hidden from view by the shadows of
his costume, but his body language told of a man still in the
grip of strong emotion, and none of the silent watchers had any
illusions as to what that emotion was. Superman stepped over to
the unmoving figure and whispered something that no-one else
could hear --indeed, few people could have told that he'd said
anything at all.Only Lois, who knew her husband so well, could
guess at what he might have said: "Steady, pal..."

Batman heard. He raised his head to look into the eyes of his
friend and comrade. There, he found what many others had found --
openness, concern and compassion -- and something more, something
that perhaps only one other person alive could offer:
understanding and friendship. Understanding of what it meant to
wear a costume, to be different, of why it was necessary to do
this, and of the cost that came with it. And the promise of
support -- the simple statement, "I know what it's like. You're
*not* alone." -- with all that that implied.

In other times, at other places, this promise might have been
conveyed by a handshake, by a firm grip that let each man give
and receive strength from the other and from the bond itself, but
here and now, much the same was done by a simple meeting of eyes.
The fire in the eyes behind the mask was quenched and the
tensioned muscles relaxed. Nothing was said -- there was no need
-- but a quick, almost imperceptible nod told of the Batman's
gratitude.

Then he reached for something under his cape and brought out an
odd-looking... was it a weapon? No, it turned out to be some form
of line-thrower, which he fired through the open skylight. He
hooked the now-taut cable to his belt and began to rise off the
floor, his cape once again spread like the wings of the animal
from which he took his sobriquet, up to the skylight and into the
darkness of the night, where he vanished from the collective view
of the crowd below.

While the crowd still gazed at the skylight in hushed awe,
Superman gathered the unconscious thugs together and secured
them, tying their hands and feet with the cords from the bank
bags. Then he flashed a glance at Lois, whom he knew was using
her cellphone to call 911, and went over to the injured security
guard. A quick examination showed that the man had a fractured
skull and a cracked rib, but none of his injuries were
life-threatening; all the blood was from surface cuts and scrapes
that had bled profusely but should heal, given time.

As he bent over the guard, a soft, concerned voice sounded in
Clark's ear. "How is he?"

He turned his head to see, at very close range, the head of the
woman whom he had saved from the wild ricochet, also bowed over
the injured man. "Not too bad," he reassured her. "It looks worse
than it is -- the bleeding is all superficial. He'll be in the
hospital for a while, but he'll recover."

She lifted her head to look at him, and he saw the worry in her
face gradually dissolve as their eyes met. "Thank God," she
whispered. "And thank *you*..."

"That's why I'm here," he replied, almost as quietly. After a few
seconds of silent communion, he moved away to get a grip on the
guard, breaking the peace of the moment by saying, "The important
thing is that he can be moved, so I'll take him to Metro General
--it'll be quicker than waiting for an ambulance."

He stood up with the unconscious man in his arms. The woman also
rose and, for the first time, Clark could see the name on her ID.
His eyes widened as he realised that *this* was Silver St Cloud;
suddenly, Bruce's anger at the gang leader made much more sense.
Fortunately, she wasn't looking at him right at that moment, and
by the time her eyes met his again, his face was back to the
neutral expression that he adopted most of the time when he was
in the suit.

Former love of his friend or no, it was time he got going; this
man needed help. He gave Ms St Cloud a courteous nod and gently
rose from the floor, drifting over to the broken skylight through
which Batman had made his spectacular entrance. He carefully rose
out of the ballroom, then, with the characteristic whoosh, he,
too, was gone.

Lois came over to her. "I called the cops," she said,
matter-of-factly. "They'll be here in a few minutes -- with a
couple of ambulances, just in case anyone got hurt."

"Oh!" said Silver, startled. "Oh, thank you, Ms Lane." She fell
silent and her attention drifted back to the hole in the ceiling
through which Superman had departed on his errand of mercy.

Lois saw this and smiled to herself. 'Got a thing for capes, have
we?' she thought to herself, before remarking in a friendly,
conversational tone, with just a hint of amusement, "Impressive,
isn't he?"

"Hmm..?" Silver shook, just a bit, as once again, her mind came
back to earth with something of a thud. "Yes... yes, he is," she
said. Her voice died away, and Lois could barely hear her say one
more word: "Almost..."

Lois was prepared to bet just about anything that Silver was
thinking, 'Almost as impressive as *Batman*...' She smiled; she
had her own opinions about the kind of impression that the two
men made on people seeing them for the first time (or second, or
third...), although she was prepared to admit that she might be
just a *teeny* bit biased...

Before she could take that line of thought any further, though,
the police arrived, and, hard on their heels, the Press -- in the
form of a dark-haired, glasses-wearing reporter for the Daily
Planet who looked just a little grim. Clark came over to her and
gave her a quick hug, which, she noted, had more than a tinge of
relief about it. She hugged back, feeling that he might need a
little reassurance, though she wasn't quite sure why. He turned
his head to kiss her ear and whispered in it, "Lois, what the
heck is going on here?"

"I'll tell you later, okay? How's the guy you took to hospital?"
she whispered back.

Clark moved her away from him, although he didn't let go of her,
and looked into her eyes. Her voice told him that Lois wasn't
just trying to put him off here; she really did have a reason for
wanting to talk to him elsewhere, presumably in private. "Okay,"
he agreed, keeping his voice down. "So's the guard. A fractured
skull and a cracked rib, but nothing else major. He might end up
with a few scars here and there, but other than that, he'll be
fine. I got him to the hospital before his condition could
deteriorate. That paramedic course was a good idea of yours -- it
really came in handy tonight; I could tell that he was okay to
move, for one thing, and that was a big help."

Lois had to smile at that. Clark had been unsure about the idea
when she'd come up with it -- *Superman* taking a course at Metro
College? -- but it had all worked out fine. Once the college
administrators had managed to recover from the shock of the Man
of Steel enquiring about a part-time course, and had finally come
to a sensible agreement about the publicity angle -- they'd
wanted to announce it with as much hoop-la as they could
generate, whereas Clark wanted the whole thing kept as low-key as
possible -- they'd managed to put together a study package that
enabled their super-student to whiz through the theoretical side
in a very short time. The practical work had taken a bit longer,
but that too had been arranged -- including some *real*
on-the-job training. The College had got its publicity boost as
well; the compromise that had been agreed was that the College
could make as much noise as they liked, within reason, *after*
Superman successfully completed the course, but everyone was to
keep things quiet while he was actually attending classes, so
that he *could* take them.

The end result was that Superman was now a trained paramedic,
something which the various hospitals in and around Metropolis
found invaluable -- so much so that Clark had heard a few
mutterings about getting him to take a full medical degree, but
he was still thinking about that.

Meantime, they both had to go to work, so, after a quick
discussion as to who did what, Lane and Kent separated and moved
in on people who could help them write another of the stories
that made them the hottest news team in Metropolis. Perry was
gonna *love* this one...

***

An hour or so later, Lois was just about finished. She'd
interviewed several of the conference-goers, including two of the
women who'd been picked out as hostages (the third was receiving
some sort of medical attention and wasn't talking to anyone),
talked to the cashiers who'd been bailed up by the gang, and had
been given the brush-off by the hotel's night manager. Clark, she
knew, had talked to the cops and the hotel and conference
security people, including the injured guard's partner -- who,
she guessed >from his reaction to something that Clark had said,
had been awfully glad to hear that his buddy would be okay. 'That
should be good for a quote or two,' she thought. Unlike the
would-be bandits and kidnappers, who had clammed up totally --
those of them who had regained consciousness, that is.

She made her way to a nearby table, flopped into a chair and
thought for a moment. Who *else* would be worth talking to before
they headed for the office and their computers? The only person
she could think of was... Silver St Cloud.

'Hmmm...' Lois was in two minds about this. On the one hand, Ms
St Cloud was the logical person to go for since the hotel manager
wasn't co-operating, but on the other, she'd been barely six feet
>from Lois when the gang burst in, so she couldn't know anything
much more than anyone else in the ballroom. Any information that
she could provide -- as distinct from the journalistic equivalent
of soundbites, of which Lois had plenty already -- could only be
background, and Lois was disinclined to bother her because...
well, she'd had *enough* bother tonight already, what with the
Bruce fiasco and all.

So it was something of a surprise when the woman herself sat down
across from her. They exchanged tired glances; this had been
quite a night, after all, and it wasn't over for either of them.
Neither one said anything for some time, then Lois murmured
quietly, "You okay?"

Silver came out of whatever far-distant world her thoughts had
carried her to with a slight start, turned towards Lois and
replied in a soft, puzzled voice, "Yes... why do you ask?"

"Well... it hasn't exactly been a relaxing evening. And I know
only too well what it feels like to nearly get killed; the
reaction afterwards can be pretty fierce..."

Silver looked shocked. "Nearly get *killed*..? What do you mean?
*Who* nearly got killed?"

"Well, when Malone -- the gang leader -- shot at Batman, the
bullets bounced off his suit... and one of the ricochets was
headed straight for you! If Superman hadn't been there..."

"Oh..."

'Oops,' thought Lois, 'Shouldn't have said that. She didn't
know.' Although, to be fair, the woman was taking the news pretty
well: she was pale, yes, but no more so than she'd been earlier,
when she'd... met Bruce..!

Lois decided that the subject of their conversation needed to be
changed immediately, both to distract Ms St Cloud and to take her
own mind away from its repeated self-castigation at the mess that
her curiosity had stirred up. Her mind raced for a second,
looking for a suitable topic, before she settled on the
business-like approach and asked, "Um... if you don't mind a
couple of questions, is tonight's 'excitement' going to affect
the conference at all?"

"No..." replied Silver slowly, distantly. Then, as though she had
thrown a switch inside herself, her voice recovered its strength,
becoming more like it had been when Lois had first met her -- or
nearly so; the humour wasn't there, and there was still the
tiniest trace of a tremor, although she did her best to hide it.
"No, fortunately not. We're not using this room again until the
final banquet on Saturday, and the hotel should be able to repair
the damage by then. Their insurance will cover the cost, although
I suspect that they'll try to claim against *ours*..."

She talked on, and Lois conscientiously took notes and asked a
few more questions. There wasn't much in what Silver was saying,
at least as far as the story of the evening's happenings went,
but Lindsey might find some of the other stuff useful, and Lois
had come up with a couple of ideas for future stories -- like,
say, a probe into the machinations of certain insurance
companies. And, of course, it kept both women's minds off Bruce
Wayne.

Engrossed in her work, Lois failed to notice Clark approach the
table. The first she knew of his presence was when, during a
pause in the conversation, two large, warm hands landed softly on
her shoulders and she felt a gentle kiss on the top of her head.
"Hi, honey," he said quietly. "I'm done. Anything you want me to
do?"

Lois looked up at him, and her face... "lit up" was the only word
for it, Silver thought, watching the couple exchange smiles and
something more -- an unvoiced communication that spoke volumes
about the relationship between them. This *had* to be "Clark"...

And then, as he straightened up from the embrace and Lois replied
softly to his question, Silver finally got a good look at the
man's face... and almost fainted in shock. The world whirled and
she had to grab onto the edge of the table to hold herself steady
until it gave up on its fandango. He... he... *couldn't* be --
could he?

Almost against her will, she took a second look at the man. He
*was*! That face, those eyes-- that *jaw*! She was *sure*, as
sure as she had been the day that... she'd recognised Bruce in
the Bat-suit..!

'Oh, God,' she thought, 'Not again... Why does this keep
happening to me? First Bruce, now... *him*!' Overwhelmed by her
discovery, she covered her face with her hands and struggled not
to break down and cry.

Her movement caught the attention of the reporters. Lois leaned
over the table, concerned. "Are you okay?" she asked,
unconsciously repeating her earlier words.

Silver's head snapped up, her face startled and wide-eyed.
"What?!" she hissed. Her head moved from side to side jerkily,
and her eyes swept the room in something that looked quite a lot
like near-panic. She focused on Clark, who had begun to go round
to her when she became upset, but he stopped when he saw her
almost shrink from him. Then she seemed to get a grip on herself.
"Oh... yes, yes, I'm fine. I guess everything just caught up with
me all at once..."

Lois nodded sympathetically. She'd noticed the woman's reaction
to Clark, which was decidedly unusual. She didn't know what the
problem was, but she recognised someone who needed very careful
handling at the moment. Clark, she was sure, would do his best to
retire into the background as only he could, while she tried to
find out what had caused Silver to freak out like this. With his
long experience of dealing with difficult women, especially ones
named Lois Lane, he'd make himself as inconspicuous and
unthreatening as possible, while still being there, ready to help
in any way that he could if needed. It was a neat trick of his,
and one that Lois knew she'd never be able to imitate if she
lived to be 150.

Lois tried asking again if Silver was all right, but got no
further. Indeed, Silver seemed determined not to say anything
more about anything; questions of any sort, no matter how gently
phrased, ran up against professional stonewalling that General
Jackson himself would have been proud of. Eventually, the
conversation ran down to an uneasy silence, Lois still wondering
what was going on, and Silver silently praying for the ordeal to
end.

Lois looked over to Clark for comfort and, hopefully, a little
inspiration. No such luck; he had That Look on his face, the
there-goes-my-super-hearing-someone-needs-me look that she knew
all too well. So it was no surprise when he caught her eye and
said, "I guess we'd better get back to the office. Or I should,
anyway. I'll... uh, ring Perry to let him know we're on our
way."

"Good idea, Clark. You do that, and then go on to the office.
I'll meet you there." As Clark darted away, Lois turned back to
Silver. She had a nagging feeling about Silver's sudden upset,
and her peculiar reaction to Clark, but it needed some thought
before she'd know how to approach the subject again. There was no
point to any further probing -- at least, not tonight -- so she
made her excuses politely and left.

***

Clark wasn't in the Planet newsroom when Lois arrived there,
which didn't surprise her. He emerged from the elevator about 20
minutes after she sat down at her computer, and beckoned her into
the conference room.

They kissed as they always did when Clark came back from being
his other self, with perhaps just a little more passion and
feeling than usual. They sat down and Clark remarked, "Big night
for the gangs -- Superman just helped the police break up a riot
and looting expedition by the Suiciders..."

Lois frowned at him, and he looked back calmly, albeit with one
eyebrow cocked. "Really?" she said thoughtfully, "And on the same
night, the SSlum Lords pull a major hold-up. Interesting... Think
they're connected?"

"Could be. It wouldn't be the first time those two gangs have
tried to out-do each other. But, naturally, no-one's talking
about it, so we don't know for certain. Which brings us to the
important point: how do we incorporate this in the story of
tonight's happenings?"

The conversation became increasingly technical as the two
reporters began to swap ideas for their articles. Eventually they
hammered out their angles and retired to their respective desks
to write. Fortunately, the newsroom was unusually empty tonight,
so Clark was able to make up for his late arrival and incorporate
the extra story about the Suiciders by using a little super-speed
-- or as much as the computer keyboard could cope with, anyway.
They each finished their work at about the same time, LANned it
to each other for comments, tweaked the articles until they were
both happy with them, and sent them off to the night editor. She
didn't ask for any major changes, so they were done and out the
door, glad to finally be on their way home, in fairly short
order.

***

Lois came out of the bathroom and headed for bed. Purely by
chance--it had been the first one to hand when she looked in the
drawer--the nightgown she was wearing was one of Clark's
favourites, and the look in his eyes as she came across the room
made her feel loved, desired and very happy about that. Which was
welcome, because she had a feeling that, in a few minutes, she
was going to need all the self-esteem she could get.

Clark was already in bed, and she took the time to appreciate his
fantastic torso before climbing under the covers with him. They
hugged, briefly but intensely, before settling themselves
comfortably against the pillows so that they could talk. By
unspoken but mutual consent, they hadn't mentioned the events at
the Hilton while they drove home, unwound and got ready for bed,
preferring to concentrate on the mundane trivia of married life.
But now, the time for that had passed, and Lois knew that she was
going to have to explain what she'd been doing before Clark had
arrived to save Silver St Cloud from near-certain death.

It had long been one of Lois' guiding principles that the best
defence was a good offence. It didn't exactly apply here, but she
figured that it at least gave her a way to start what was bound
to be a sticky conversation. "Boy, was I glad to see you tonight,
sweetheart. One second later, and..."

"Yeah..." said a thoughtful Clark. "Me, too. I'd been worried
about you. I tried to call you here about eight, but there was no
answer, and you weren't there when I checked visually. I couldn't
think where you could have got to. I certainly didn't expect to
see you at the Hilton." As Lois watched, one eyebrow lifted and
his voice became rueful. "Although I guess I *should* have. Big
important conference with lots of wealthy business people gets
held up by a bike gang from Suicide Slum -- where *else* would
Lois Lane be?"

Lois just looked at him with an oh-brother! expression, although
she was actually feeling a bit happier. This wasn't as bad as
she'd half-feared; if Clark was teasing her, then he couldn't be
very angry. Of course, that was *now* -- how he'd feel after she
told him what she was *doing* at the banquet was something else
entirely.

Meantime, there was something of some importance, albeit
peripheral to the main topic of conversation, to be sorted out.
"Why didn't you call my mobile?" she queried, "I was trying to
think of some way to call you on it without the SSlum Lords
noticing, when Bruce made his big entrance."

"Um... this is gonna sound silly, but I was a bit worried that I
might... oh, I don't know, blow your cover, disturb your
concentration, spook a witness, *whatever*... if I did that. You
*know* how many times that's happened to us! I just... had this
feeling that it mightn't be a good idea, that's all. Besides, I'd
have called you well before the gang hit the hotel."

"Oh..." Lois was surprised. "Hmmm, maybe we can think of some way
for me to be able to call you in an emergency. Sort of like that
watch of Jimmy's, but less deafening to those of us with
super-hearing..."

Lois lapsed into thought, but Clark refused to be distracted.
"Lois..." he said, softly but with sufficient intensity to catch
her attention, "You still haven't told me what you were doing
there in the first place. *Or* why you landed me with all that
extra work this evening."

*That* caught Lois unawares. "What..? How..? You *knew* I
was..."

Clark grinned. "Lois, give me some credit for observation, at the
very least. I could tell you were up to something -- you've been
organising this for what? A week? -- and it seemed to involve
keeping me at the office for most of the evening. Now, it just so
happens that I trust my partner, who also happens to be my wife,
so I didn't do anything about it, figuring that I'd find out what
this was all about eventually. I think maybe 'eventually' has
arrived, don't you?"

"Yes..." said Lois resignedly. "You're right, Clark. I'm sorry.
It was just... well, I wanted to meet Silver. Ever since you told
me about her, she's... sort of fascinated me. I knew you wouldn't
be keen on the idea, but I thought I could arrange it so that I
could talk to her while you were busy, and then I'd get what I
wanted, you wouldn't be bothered, and no-one would be any the
worse for it." Her eyes fell and her voice took on a plaintive
tone. "But it all went wrong, and then Malone and his gang of
creeps showed up..."

Clark frowned, not at his wife but at the unhappiness that he
could hear. There was more to this than just wanting to meet a
woman whom he had mentioned once. Curiosity was one thing, but
Lois didn't go to this sort of effort unless the end result was
something important -- and he couldn't see that meeting an old
girlfriend of Bruce's qualified. "Why did you want to meet her,
honey?" he asked, as gently as he could. "What was it about her
that fascinated you?"

"I... oh... Bruce..." For a moment, Lois seemed to be
embarrassed, having trouble putting what she wanted to say into
words. But then, she almost visibly took herself in hand and
stiffened her resolve, breaking the silence by bursting out, "I
wanted to know how she *did* it! I mean, look at you and I -- two
years, and I never guessed, barely even *suspected*, despite
Diana Stride, despite H.G. Wells and Tempus, despite the
Cheese-of-the-Month Club..!" They both had to smile at *that*, at
least for a moment. "And then you tell me that this woman has
cracked Bruce's secret after... what? A few weeks? A couple of
months at most -- that's incredible!"

"Ahhh..." So *that* was it. Clark nodded to himself. He knew
about Lois' continuing chagrin that she hadn't discovered his
dual identities in all that time -- not until, under the twin
stresses of having his parents kidnapped and being ordered to
kill Lois to save their lives, he had given himself away.

She'd got over the double surprise of his proposal and finding
out about Superman, and there were no more secrets between them
-- except for the harmless kind like what he was giving her for
Christmas -- but he knew that, deep down, what she saw as her own
blindness and stupidity still rankled, just a little. He
understood that; he had his own regrets about their rocky road to
romance and marriage, however much the end of that road was as
wonderful as he-- *they* hoped it would be, so he could also
understand how Lois would want to find out more about a woman who
had, to her mind, done what she, Lois, had not -- discovered her
boyfriend's secret identity, and *quickly*, not after years of
having the "obvious" right under her nose.

He looked at her, and saw a miserable look on her face that
immediately banished any remaining traces of annoyance that he
might have had. What's done was done, and he couldn't stand to
see her unhappy. He opened his arms, murmuring, "Come here,
honey," and she came into them gladly.

The next few minutes were spent just holding one another, Lois
wrapped in Clark's arms and holding on to him tightly as the
peace that always came from being together like this, seeped into
her soul. For the umpteenth time, she thanked God, and meant it,
for this man and everything he gave to her -- his kindness, his
forbearance, his strength and, most of all, his love.

Eventually, they separated slightly, though only enough to move
so that they could look into one another's eyes, and Clark said,
"Okay, you've indulged your curiosity and seen Silver -- and, I
have to admit, from what little *I* saw of her, she comes across
as a nice person. It's a shame about her and Bruce... Anyway, are
you happy now? Can we leave it at that, and make tonight the end
of this?"

"Well... I guess so," said Lois in a small voice. 'I *hope* so,'
she thought to herself. In her mind, despite the contentment that
Clark had brought her, she was still somewhat apprehensive,
unsure as to whether she *could* safely "leave it at that". There
was something about the way that Silver had reacted when she'd
seen Clark *as* Clark that had her reporter's instincts
twitching. She'd have to think about this...

"That's good," Clark said, yawning. If he'd picked up on Lois'
uncertainty, either from her voice or the slight tension that she
felt inside at the thought of what her instincts might be telling
her, he didn't react to it at all. "Because, frankly, I'd much
prefer spending the next couple of evenings *with* Bruce, rather
than analysing his old girlfriends."

"Yeah... me, too. I just hope he can stand to see *me*. I
wouldn't blame him if I wasn't his favourite person right
now..."

"What do you mean, honey? Why would Bruce not want to see
*you*?"

Lois winced again at the memory of the confrontation between
Bruce and Silver, and began to tell Clark the tale of that
unfortunate meeting. Clark grimaced at her description of Bruce's
emotionless demeanour and the undercurrents in the outwardly
bland conversation. Some he could explain, or at least guess what
lay behind Bruce's words, but others had to be accepted as only
having meaning to the two people involved.

Lois went on to tell him of her conversation with Bruce
immediately before Silver arrived, and Clark couldn't help
smiling at that, which made them both feel a little better. He
could picture the scene: Lois caught in a classic Lane Babble,
striving frantically to have a "normal" conversation with their
friend, but also to cut it short, never quite realising that the
very torrent of words with which she was trying to do this was
dragging out the conversation and working against everything that
she was desperate to achieve!

His smile became a grin and their eyes met for a moment in quiet
appreciation of the absurdity of the situation, although Lois
couldn't really relish the full humour of her predicament. Maybe
in the future, but right now she was still too close to the event
to find it very funny.

"Thank God he doesn't realise the *real* reason why I was there!"
she finished. "He might have guessed-- what am I saying? Of
*course* he guessed -- he *is* the world's greatest detective,
after all! Anyway, he guessed that I knew about him and Silver,
and that that was why I was so surprised when he came up to me,
but I'm sure that he thinks that I was there on business, and I
*really* want him to keep thinking that. You won't tell him, will
you, Clark? Please?"

"Of course not, Lois." Clark's manner had been calm and
reassuring up until this point, but now that teasing tone
appeared, as did just a hint of the famous Kent grin. "I mean,
what would be the point? Bruce already *knows* about your
insatiable curiosity..."

Lois picked up a pillow and tried to swat him. Unfortunately for
her, he blocked her swing, yanked it out of her hand and went to
return the favour. One thing led to another, and the evening --
well, morning now -- ended on a much happier note than it had had
earlier.

***

Lois lay in Clark's arms, watching the slow rise and fall of his
chest as he slept. This was something that she loved to do on
those few occasions on which he dropped off to sleep before she
did, and was one of the best reasons for insomnia that she could
imagine. Not that she normally suffered from insomnia, but any
excuse to feast her eyes on her husband's gorgeous body was
welcome.

Tonight, however, she *was* having trouble sleeping. Ordinarily,
she'd have been out like a light after a long day like today --
particularly if Clark was holding her -- and this ought not to
have been an exception; she felt pleasantly relaxed, and
physically tired, but her mind wouldn't let her get to sleep.

She was concerned about Silver St Cloud, and her reaction to
Clark earlier that evening. Lois had seen how the woman handled
shocks -- *big* shocks, like meeting Bruce Wayne, having her
banquet interrupted by gun-toting thugs, finding out that she'd
nearly been shot -- and from what she'd seen, Silver's
near-collapse when she'd met Clark was definitely a similar sort
of response, only more so. It was as though seeing Clark was the
biggest shock of all, the ultimate kicker in an evening which had
already had more heart-stoppers in it than ought to be allowed in
such a short time.

And *that* was worrying... dangerous, even. Clark said that
Silver had recognised Bruce in his Batman costume; what if she'd
done the same to *Clark*? Okay, so the woman had only seen
Superman for a few seconds, and hadn't met Clark at *all* before,
but Bruce's mask provided much more in the way of concealment and
disguise than did Clark's glasses. 'Even if it did take *me* two
years to see past them...' Lois thought ruefully.

Could Silver have possibly have recognised Clark? She sure acted
like she had! But was it likely? Clark's "disguise" worked so
well, especially with women, because his character was so
different in his two identities; Superman was noble, upright,
stern or caring as the case demanded -- and, it had to be
admitted, as sexy as hell; Clark was... okay, "mild-mannered",
which translated in public to polite, friendly, helpful,
easy-going at times -- although, with her help, he had added
"incisive" to that list of qualities. 'He's *also* as sexy as
hell,' she thought to herself with a grin, 'if you bother to look
at him...' The grin became a grimace as she remembered some of
the women who *had* looked, even before she had (except, maybe,
when under the influence of artificial pheromones).

She shook that off, and returned to her train of thought about Ms
St Cloud. Could she have possibly done what Martha had designed
the suit to prevent, namely looked at Superman's *face* well
enough to recognise it when Clark showed up at the table? She
thought about this over and over, but came to no real decision...
until she remembered Silver's worried face mere inches away >from
Superman's as they checked on the injured guard!

'Oh, hell...' Lois thought, '*that's* how she did it. *If* she
did it -- which is starting to look all too likely. So now what
do we do?

'No, what do *I* do? Clark doesn't need to know about this yet;
not until I've checked her out and found if she really has
discovered his secret identity. Geez, I wish I could ask Bruce
for help; the World's Greatest Detective is just who I need right
now...

'Well, one thing's for sure: I'm definitely going to make an
appointment to see her tomorrow!'

With that decided, Lois tried to relax, stop thinking and go to
sleep. She wasn't expecting that to be easy, though, but Clark
came to her rescue once again; somehow, even though asleep, he
sensed that she was troubled and held her a little tighter. This
made her reflect yet again on how lucky she was to be loved by
this incredible man, and how much she loved him. Her worries
seemed that bit less powerful in the light of that love, and
eventually the combination of Clark's reassuring presence and her
own fatigue won out over her internal tension, and she drifted
off.

***

Lois and Clark slept late (for them) the following morning, but
they weren't worried because they weren't expected in at the
Planet until around lunchtime. Perry would see that their story
about the gang activity had been submitted after midnight, and it
was his policy in such cases not to call on day staff who'd been
working that late until the following afternoon unless it was an
emergency; of course, Lane and Kent were prone to getting a large
number of these emergency calls but, as Lois put it, that was the
price you paid for being the best!

Their late night had turned out to be convenient for them;
Superman was due to visit STAR Labs that morning to help Dr Klein
with an experiment, and now Lois wouldn't have to cover for Clark
while he was away, because no-one would expect him to be at work
anyway. Clark's absence also meant that Lois had the opportunity
to contact Silver St Cloud while he was gone, and make that
appointment to see her. What happened after that depended on what
Lois could find out regarding the extent of Silver's knowledge or
suspicions regarding Clark and Superman.

Which gave her furiously to think while the couple shared a
leisurely breakfast. Clark noticed that Lois seemed a little
preoccupied -- or was it tired? Sometimes, if she'd had a busy
night, Lois would spend the first few hours of the next day in a
less-than-alert state that she described as "being on automatic
pilot -- at least until I've had enough coffee to wake up
properly." Which was okay, he was used to that -- he even thought
he knew what it felt like himself, although it took a lot more to
tire *him* out that much -- but it was pretty similar to Lois'
manner when she was distracted or really concentrating on
something, so it wasn't always easy to tell if she was brooding
or exhausted.

He decided that it was probably the latter (which was a tribute
to Lois' unconscious acting ability) and told her to go back to
bed for a couple of hours. She grunted something which might have
been agreement (actually, she was still deep in thought, planning
how to pick Silver St Cloud's brains without her realising that
it was being done, at least until it was too late) as he spun
into the suit and kissed her good-bye. The kiss got her full
attention, and she grabbed him in a long, sensual hug -- but
then, she did that every morning, so Clark suspected nothing of
his wife's worries and self-imposed quest as he flew off with a
happy smile.

His departure galvanised Lois into action. She washed and dressed
for work briskly, then took out her cellphone and the card that
Ms St Cloud had given her, and dialled the number on it. Her
timing was good; Silver answered almost immediately, and it was
quickly arranged that the two women would meet in Silver's room
at the Hilton in about an hour. This gave Lois time to make a
flying visit to the Planet to check her messages and arrange
things so that she could concentrate on Silver for as long as
necessary. She rang off politely and headed out the door for her
jeep.

***

Having done everything that she needed to do, Lois was about to
leave the newsroom for the Hilton when she was stopped short by
the commanding drawl of Perry White. "Lois!"

"Yes, Chief," she replied, mentally sending up a prayer for this
not to involve a long discussion of her schedule for the rest of
the day, with or without Elvis stories.

Perry came over to her desk. "Nice work last night. Lindsey was
tellin' me about this idea of yours for an article on successful
businesswomen..." Lois began to mentally curse the woman, but she
didn't get very far into the list of dreadful fates that would be
visited upon the hapless financial reporter if the Great Goddess
Lane had anything to do with it before Perry continued, "...I
like it," at which point she had to abandon the whole thing.

"Yeah..." the editor said thoughtfully, "I think there's
potential there for a Sunday feature -- maybe even a series, if
you can find enough interestin' women..."

Lois grabbed this one on the fly. "Thanks, Chief. Actually, I'm
just on my way to interview a prime candidate for that, and I'm
gonna be late if I don't go *now*..."

"Oh, okay, sure. But don't spend too much time on this; Sunday
features are okay, but this is a *news*paper! I want you and
Clark to talk to Henderson this afternoon about these gang
rumbles..."

This last was said to Lois' retreating back. She climbed the
newsroom stairs, whirled around, waved, called out, "No problem,
Chief. I'll be back before lunch -- well, I *should* be..." and
dived into the elevator, leaving a bemused Perry standing staring
after her.

'Now, what in tarnation is that girl up to?' he thought to
himself. 'When she's like this, it usually means that she's on
the trail of somethin' big, and I don't think interviewin'
successful businesswomen comes up to her standards for big...
Maybe it's a follow-up to that robbery last night? Ah, you think
I'd have better sense than to try second-guessing Lois after all
these years. She'll tell me when she's good and ready.' And on
that happy thought, Perry headed for his office, barking a few
friendly editorial comments to various newsroom inhabitants as he
went.

***

Lois paused outside the door of room 1587 of the Hilton. She
quickly ran her hands over her hair and smoothed her skirt,
closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A small part of her mind
was rather amused at this sudden need to calm herself and put on
a good front, but she told it to shut up; she had some serious,
delicate probing to do and she needed to be as focused as
possible to do it, which meant that she couldn't waste time
worrying if her hair and clothes were okay. She wasn't nervous,
no, not at all. Just because this woman knew Bruce Wayne's dual
identity and might well have guessed Clark's, that was no reason
to be nervous, of course not...

Another deep breath, and she reached out and knocked on the door.
After a short wait, the peephole lens in the door went dark and,
a few moments later, the door opened. Ms St Cloud greeted Lois
cordially and led her into the suite. The desk in the living room
was covered with papers, which Silver waved at deprecatingly,
murmuring about work always being there, so they settled down in
comfortable armchairs.

The next half-an-hour or so was spent in a conventional
interview; Lois, having trapped herself into actually having to
produce the articles that she'd invented as a cover story,
applied her usual professional thoroughness to the job, which
left her interviewee with the sensation, new to her but familiar
amongst Metropolitans who'd attracted the interest of Lois Lane,
of having had her life -- or, at least, the business part of it
-- extracted, examined in exquisite detail under an electron
microscope, and hung out to dry. So it was with a sigh of relief
that Silver got up to answer a knock on the door, which she
hoped, and was very pleased to see, was room service, bringing
coffee.

Lois welcomed the break, too. She'd just about got everything she
needed for her article, so it was time to get down to the *real*
reason why she was here, and that could best be approached in a
less adversarial setting -- like, say, while having coffee.

She accepted the proffered cup, took a sip -- hey, that was
*good* coffee! -- and declined anything to eat. The two women sat
in comfortable silence, savouring the coffee, for some time, and
then Lois began a "conversation".

"How are you feeling this morning?" she said chattily. "You were
looking pretty pale last night. Of course, you had good reason
to: first night of your first big conference in Metropolis, it
gets held up; *you* get shot at; then you're rescued by Superman
-- *and* Batman! Wonder what *he* was doing here... That's enough
to stress out anybody."

This didn't seem to be having any effect -- or not the effect
that Lois wanted, because Silver, who up to now had been
conversing pleasantly, suddenly became rather quiet -- so Lois
decided to up the ante. "And all that on top of meeting Bruce
again... hell of way to spend an evening, if you ask me."

Silver still didn't respond. In fact, she looked to Lois as
though she'd withdrawn from the world, pulled right back inside
herself -- presumably as a defensive measure. 'Hmmm... now what
do I do?' Lois thought, 'Do I lure her out or *blast* her out?
But out she must come, or I'm not going to get any answers.'

Lois tried the softly-softly approach first, chatting about this
and that with the occasional gentle, oblique query about Silver's
state of mind and health, but the woman's reticent near-silence
continued, stymieing Lois' attempts to turn the conversation to
where she wanted it to go. Eventually, Lois was forced to the
conclusion that it was blasting time; she *had* to break this
stonewalling -- the question was, what would be the best
bombshell to drop? After a few minutes, she decided that she
might as well use the biggest weapon in her possession -- the
biggest one that it was safe to use, that is.

Being a practised interviewer, it wasn't hard for her to move the
conversation -- which was more like a monologue, anyway -- by
obscure and devious routes to the subject of the events of the
previous evening. "I was so surprised when Batman came crashing
through that skylight," she babbled -- deliberately, babble
seeming to be appropriate since she was having to do most of the
talking. "Relieved, too -- but not half as relieved as those poor
women that Malone was threatening. I've been taken hostage a few
times and, believe me, it is *no* fun..."

'Okay, here we go...' "Malone's lucky that he didn't know who you
were. You'd have been a perfect hostage from his point of view:
attractive, important, 'rich' -- Suicide Slum gangs think
everyone who isn't from the Slum is rich -- and Bruce would have
gone through the roof! I mean, he was *so* angry last night when
you were nearly hurt; if Malone had actually *touched* you, I
think Bruce might have killed him..."

Silver's coffee cup hit the floor with a crash and an
accompanying tinkle from the spoon. Fortunately, there was
nothing in it, or her legs might have been badly scalded. Lois,
not realising that the cup was empty, cut short what she had gone
on to say and grabbed a napkin from the coffee tray, hastily
kneeling by the other woman's legs to clean up and begin first
aid if needed. But when she saw that there was no coffee or blood
anywhere, she looked up... to see Silver staring at her. After a
few seconds during which the blonde woman seemed to be struggling
to say something, but the words wouldn't come, Lois finally heard
her say, in a half-strangled gasp, "You... you *know*?"

"About Batman?" In sharp contrast to Silver's distress, Lois'
voice was determinedly nonchalant as she got up and sat down
again. "Of course. I *told* you we were friends..."

"You mean... your 'mutual friend'... your husband...
*Superman*..?"

'Well, that answers *that* question,' Lois thought wryly. She
would have said as much, but the startled gaze of the blonde
woman changed as she watched to a cold glare, matched by the
chill in Ms St Cloud's voice as she spoke again: "Did Bruce send
you here?"

Now it was *Lois'* turn to be startled. "No!" she half-yelped,
stifling a giggle that didn't seem to realise that it was totally
out of place right now. "Nobody *sent* me, and certainly not
...Bruce--in fact, he would be furious if he knew I was here."

"Then why *are* you here? Just what did you have in mind, playing
your little games with me? It's become obvious that your 'story'
is just that, so what is it you really want, Ms Lane?"

'Oh, dear...' thought Lois, her mind suddenly racing. 'Now, how
do I answer that?' The conversation was not going at all the way
she'd planned it, mostly because she'd grossly underestimated the
other person taking part; nonetheless, it was important that they
sort a few things out now that Lois' fears had been confirmed,
and the only way that she could see to make sure that that
happened was to tell the truth. 'Okay, cards on the table...'

"Why am I here?" Lois asked. "First of all, not to play *games*.
I don't get any kick out of malicious mind games with people who
don't deserve it, and I don't think you qualify. Believe it or
not, I've enjoyed getting to know you, and I think we could be
friends if you can stand the sight of me after today -- which is
not something I say to very many people.

"We sure as hell have something in common! Which is one reason
why I had to see you today; from the way you acted last night, I
was afraid that you suspected something about Clark, and
obviously, I was right! You have to understand that I couldn't
just let that hang -- it's too dangerous; I had to *know*, and
now that I do, we need to talk about it."

"What is there to say?" Silver replied, surprise peeking through
the icy control -- which perhaps wasn't as effective as she might
have liked. "I certainly have no intention of telling anyone, and
I can't imagine that anyone is going to suspect *me* of knowing
who Superman really is." Her next words sounded forced, as though
she felt they had to be said, even though a pit of rattlesnakes
might be an acceptable alternative, were one available. "Bruce
will vouch for my trustworthiness, I think..." Then, despite
herself, her tone turned to curiosity. "This must have happened
before, surely; those glasses aren't much of a disguise."

Lois didn't know whether to wince or laugh. She settled for the
latter, and the atmosphere in the room thawed a couple of
degrees. "You'd be surprised... they fooled *me* for an awful
long time! Look, Silver, it's not that Clark and I don't trust
you, but now that you know, we need to talk about this. It's not
as simple as just saying, 'Yes, I know, but I won't tell anyone.'
Secrets like this put you under a lot of pressure, whatever you
do. You *can't* just forget about them, because they keep pushing
themselves forward. Look at you and Bruce..."

The thaw instantly re-froze. "What do you mean?" Silver said, and
the edge to her voice could have cut raw silk.

Lois was beginning to get angry, just a little. She *had* to get
it through the woman's head that she couldn't just walk away from
what she now knew -- or, it was becoming increasingly obvious,
from Bruce Wayne, either. And that thought gave her an angle to
use.

"Silver..." she said, exasperation tingeing her words, "I don't
want to butt into your personal life any more than I have to, but
I think you need to re-assess your relationship with Bruce. Okay,
you broke up with him, but from what I saw last night, neither of
you has really let go. I don't think I've seen anyone react so
strongly to someone since..." She paused for thought, and then
realised that there was only *one* valid comparison to make.
"...since I looked in the mirror after meeting Superman! I think
you need to sort yourself out, and I hope I can help. I'd like to
try, at least..."

"How... how *dare* you?!" Horrified and furious at Lois'
presumption, not to mention the prospect of having to bare her
soul over something that she'd much rather stayed buried -- or
would she? -- but also dangerously near tears, Silver stood up
and pointed to the door. "Ms Lane, would you please leave?"

"No!" Lois yelled, mentally damning the torpedoes. "I'm not going
anywhere! Not until you and I sit down and *talk* about this!
Because I've *seen* you, last night and this morning, and you
need help! Not professional help, but help from a friend -- and
I'm all you got, as far as this secret identity business goes.
Just meeting Bruce again is eating you alive, and now you've got
to deal with Clark and I on top of that. If you don't talk about
it -- about *everything*: Bruce, Batman, your fears, your
worries, the insecurity, the whole bit -- it will fester until it
poisons your whole life. Believe me, I've been there, and I know:
you either talk, or the emotional pressure will tear you to
pieces!"

Lois paused for breath, glaring at Silver through the moment of
silence before continuing, "I *know* what you're going through,
dammit! Do you think that just because Clark is bullet-proof, he
can't be *hurt*? He's saved my life more often than I can count,
but I've saved *his* more than a few times, and he'd be the first
to admit that. You worry about Bruce getting shot; *I* worry
about some maniac with kryptonite!"

Silver was rocked back on her heels, both figuratively and
literally, by the sheer power of Lois'... well, explosion seemed
to be the best way to describe it. Had she not been so affected
by the woman's whirlwind invective, she might have resented that
Lois had made more than a few assumptions about her and her wants
and needs, particularly with respect to Bruce; as it was, she
found herself swept along by the force of Lois' demands until she
forgot her anger, forgot her determination to keep Bruce Wayne
out of her life, and began to take part in what had somehow
become a conversation about something that she'd never imagined
ever being able to talk about with anyone.

"Lois... how *do* you deal with it? How do you live with the
possibility that your husband -- the man you love..." 'There, I
said it!' "...will go out one night and not come back?"

"The same way every woman does who's married to a policeman, a
fireman, a paramedic, a soldier, a test pilot... By admitting
that it could happen, praying that it won't, and being prepared
to accept the consequences if it does. And by remembering, every
minute of every day, that if there's *any* way humanly possible
-- and Clark counts as human for this -- my man *will* come back
to me.

"Silver, before I found out that Clark was Superman, we nearly
didn't get together because Clark kept having to disappear to go
help someone in the suit. When I lost my memory, one of the
things which gradually came back was this habit of Clark's of
leaving all the time. I called him on it, and I will always
remember what he said: 'Yes, I do' -- run off, that is -- 'but I
always come back.' And he does. He's come back from everywhere
and everything that you can imagine. From the four corners of the
world, from space, from attacks on the innermost depths of his
mind and soul -- from *death*, even! For me."

"Yes, but that's Cl-- Superman. I... I'm not sure Batman can do
that..."

"Silver, this is *Bruce* we're talking about, remember? Look, I
know finding that the man you love has a secret identity and
spends his time in long underwear fighting bad guys can be
frightening, but you've got to look past the costume -- *both* of
them: the spandex and body armour, *and* the 'normal' guy that
everyone else sees. Only then can you find the real man.

"I knew Clark for nearly two years before I got past the 'Super'
part to discover the man, and when I did, finally, it took me
*weeks* to sort out my feelings about the fact that he wasn't
just the simple, mild-mannered reporter that I fell in love with.
But once I did... I've never been so happy, and neither has
Clark.

"Do you realise that it's a minor miracle that Clark isn't
schizoid? Almost all his life, he's had to hide what he can do.
And then, once he came up with the idea of Superman so that he
could use his powers, he found he had to... bottle himself up
when he was in the suit. He could never be just himself, except
when he was *by* himself or with his parents. Now he can do that
-- *be* that with *me*, every day. And, when we see them, with
Bruce, Dick and Alfred. He told me that it's like having a weight
taken from him, one that even his super-strength couldn't lift.
I... he makes me feel so *special*..."

"You're very lucky..." Silver whispered, downcast. Was there a
trace of envy there?

Lois, lost for a moment in the warmth of the great mutual love
between herself and Clark, forced herself back to the present and
began to get angry. "Silver! Yes, I'm lucky, but so could *you*
be, if you only had the guts to *go* for it! Have you heard a
word of what I've been saying? Bruce is just like Clark! Oh, he
can't fly, but there are these two halves of him that no-one else
knows --no-one but Alfred, Dick, Clark, me... and you.

"Okay, Batman is a pretty scary guy -- look at what happened last
night, when you nearly got shot; he even frightened *me*! -- but
that's the whole idea! You've got to look past the Bat to the man
inside the suit. There *is* a man there -- a good, kind, decent,
*caring* man who was hurt incredibly badly as a little boy, so he
dedicated himself-- his entire *life* -- to preventing that from
happening to anyone else. But to do that, he had to split himself
into two, the same way that Clark did; the difference is that
Bruce Wayne became more of a disguise and the Batman has more of
the real person in him."

"But... but Bruce is real. I know he is..."

"When he's with *you*, yeah, he probably is -- but how many times
have you read gossip columns about Bruce Wayne, the idle rich
playboy? Seen photos of him surrounded by bimbos or beach
bunnies? You think *that's* the real Bruce? Don't make me
laugh!"

Lois could see that strike home. Silver lowered her head and Lois
could imagine the massive cringe that the other woman must be
experiencing inside. She went on, determined to sink a few home
truths through Silver's skull, "It's all front! Oh, he enjoys it
on a superficial level, just like I enjoyed getting flowers from
Brad Pitt and Antonio Banderas when I was Ultra Woman, but it
doesn't *mean* anything -- it's all show, just like Clark's
glasses, so no-one can ever conceive that the playboy could
possibly be the hero. But that's not Bruce, any more than
Superman is who Clark really is.

"I've *seen* the real Bruce Wayne, a.k.a. the Batman. Not often,
and not for long, but I've been lucky enough, because I married
Clark, to see him and talk to him -- even *joke* with him! Can
you imagine the Batman laughing? You should hear him with his
feet up, the mask off and a cup of coffee in his hand. *Bruce
Wayne* can laugh all right, and he *does* when he feels relaxed
enough. He's got a great sense of humour -- very sharp, very
pointed; the inevitable result of being the world's greatest
detective, I guess but it only ever really comes out in the
Bat-cave. It's a shame, but I think that even his beloved Wayne
Manor has become a stage for his act as the shallow billionaire.

"You got lucky -- you met Bruce at a time when his alter ego was
under attack by Boss Thorne and his cronies, and because of that,
he was that little bit more willing to let you get close to
something deeper than the playboy facade, to show you his real
self. And *that* was who you fell in love with. And that was who
you left behind...

"I'm not saying it's going to be easy. It's not. At times, it's
going to be even harder than it was for Clark and I -- and, God
knows, I wouldn't wish *that* on anyone -- because Bruce carries
around this tremendous load of anger and sorrow. What drives him
to be the Batman is always going to be there, but it's not *all*
there is to him. *You* know that if anyone does.

"Bruce is a man with an incredible amount of compassion -- and
passion -- inside. He needs to be able to let that out. At the
moment, the only way he can do that is as the Batman, or by
proxy, by doing good works through the Wayne Foundation. Neither
is what he really needs; one is only a way to release his anger
and frustrations, and the other is too dry, too detached to be
much help. But it's all he's got, except for those very few
people that he dares care about -- Alfred, Dick, Commissioner
Gordon and, to a lesser extent, Clark and I. And you --
*especially* you, if you'd let him. He needs more -- and you
could give it to him."

Silver sat, silently and visibly thinking over Lois' words. Lois
stayed silent, too. She'd had her say; what happened now depended
on the decision that the woman next to her would make. She just
hoped that Silver realised that she was being offered that rarest
of opportunities, a second chance.

Eventually, Silver turned to look at Lois. Her face showed
uncertainty, as did her voice as she said, very softly, "How do I
do that? Not just right now, but... in the future. How do I give
him what he needs?" 'And where do I get the strength to do it?'

Lois perceived the unsaid question almost as clearly as she heard
Silver's words. She replied, equally softly, "By loving him. By
letting *him* love *you*. By being yourself and insisting that he
be himself. By going and doing your job, and coping when he has
to leave you to do his. By being there when he comes back, and
demanding that he share the things that he's seen and done with
you. By *not* letting him fob you off; if they're anything like
what Clark has to handle -- and they're probably *worse* -- the
things that Batman deals with on a nightly basis are likely to be
pretty dreadful at times, and he needs to know that someone else
cares, even though he might not want to bother you.

"How do you cope with all that? Oddly enough, it helps if you're
a little bit selfish. I see Superman fly overhead sometimes, or
look at a story in the paper or on TV -- even one I wrote myself
and I think to myself, 'Lois, girl, you are the luckiest woman
alive, because that man is all *yours*!' I think of the whole
world, and I... preen, I guess, because I know that Clark is out
there, doing what he has to do because he is what he is, but that
what he's really looking forward to is coming back home, to *me*.
It's a nice feeling... and it helps when he has to leave me to go
save someone else, or the world.

"That's what you should do. Think about all the bimbos and beach
bunnies, and all the society matrons, all over the world, who are
going to be *devastated* by the news that Bruce Wayne, that most
eligible of eligible bachelors, is going to settle down at last
-- with *you*! Laugh at them! Imagine their screams of rage at
the news."

Lois paused for a second, then grinned. "Take a leaf out of one
of the Dorothy L Sayers books: go down to the biggest florist's
shop that you know and imagine ordering tons of willow branches
to send to all Bruce's old dates and their mothers, 'for the
better beating of breasts'. And in every single bunch, you put a
card: 'Sorry, girls, you're out of luck -- he's *mine*!' Hell,
woman, you could be the... significant other..." 'At the very
least, but let's not push it too much, Lois. Silver's just barely
coming to terms with the idea as it is.' "...of a guy who is not
only indecently rich..." 'Well, that really describes *Lex*
better than Bruce.' "...but is also drop-dead handsome, with a
body to *die* for! Flaunt it, kid! Glory in it!"

She paused again, and her voice lost the playful tone. "But, if
you want Bruce, you have to accept the Batman, because you can't
split them apart. Just remember, when he charges into danger or
ends up in a knock-down, drag-out fight with a gang of crooks,
he's doing it because he *has* to, because he cares so much for
other people, for the whole of Gotham City, that he can't bear to
see another person hurt the way he was as a little boy while
there is *anything* in his power that he can do to stop it. But
when it's all over, and the cops are picking up the pieces, what
he wants more than anything is *never* to have to do that again.
To be able to hang up his cape for good, because it would mean
that he'd done his job.

"Now, you and I know that that's not likely to happen, and so
does Bruce. By now, he'd probably miss the excitement if the
whole world *did* suddenly become totally honest and peaceful
overnight. But that doesn't mean that he doesn't need that peace
inside himself. What makes him the Batman is a deep, deep rage;
he needs something positive to counter that, to act as a balance
before it sucks him in completely and destroys a wonderful man.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, because it's the world's
*worst* cliche, but what Bruce needs is the love of a good woman.
And *you*, Silver St Cloud, are the good woman that he wants. All
that caring that drives him to be the Batman could be yours, too
--*if* you can bring yourself to take it!"

'Bring myself to take it...' thought Silver. 'Can I do that? Do I
*want* to?' Her head felt numb inside; thinking was difficult
through a maelstrom of confused emotion, and decision-making next
to impossible. Still, she tried to sort out just what she was
feeling, but her indecision only deepened and the confusion grew.
Finally, in a desperate attempt to respond somehow, she blanked
her mind, deliberately refusing to think in the hope that her
emotions would untangle themselves and present her with a
straightforward answer to two simple questions: 'Do I love Bruce
Wayne?' and, 'If I do, can I live with his double life?'

But, it came to her suddenly, there was really only one question.
The fact that she had to ask herself the second question meant
that the answer to the first one was yes; she *did* love Bruce
Wayne, she had since she'd come to know him three years ago, and
she'd never stopped loving him, even when she'd run away from him
because of his alter ego.

She'd done her best to forget him, to bury her feelings for him
deep inside where they would eventually wither and die... but
they hadn't. She had only to hear a casual remark from anyone
about Bruce or the Batman and she would be consumed with
curiosity. She'd always been interested in the hero, even before
she'd met him, in either guise, and this... this fascination
would *not* go away, no matter how hard she tried to present an
indifferent facade to the world, and even to herself.

She'd managed to cope without him by building a wall between
herself and her emotions. She hadn't had a real relationship with
anyone since Bruce; a few dates, yes, but the men always seemed
so shallow that she'd given up on them very quickly, almost in
disgust. Now, with this new self-awareness that Lois had somehow
forced upon her, she knew that the reason for her dismissive
attitude to her unfortunate escorts was that they simply didn't
measure up to Bruce Wayne; she'd never realised it before because
she hadn't dared think of him, lest the pain return. So, she'd
rejected the whole idea of personal relationships as messy and
unnecessary, and put her efforts into her work. That had kept her
mind occupied and given her a measure of contentment, but had
done nothing for her emotionally.

But then Bruce had come back into her life, and all her efforts
to put him out of her mind and her heart had been for nothing.
Without even trying, he had crashed through her defences as
though they were paper walls in a Japanese house and exposed her
feelings, so long buried but none the less strong for the passage
of time, for anyone who cared to look. The worst part was that
*he* hadn't bothered to look, probably because he didn't want to
open his own emotional wounds from three years ago.

But *Lois* had looked, both before and after Silver had
discovered Clark's secret, and she was holding out the prospect
of a renewed relationship with Bruce, something which was both
enticing and terrifying -- *if*, the thought sprang into Silver's
mind, she knew what she was talking about. Yes, the woman was
Superman's wife -- a startling idea in itself -- but did that
mean that her opinions of *Batman* were to be trusted?

It suddenly became imperative to Silver to find out just what
Lois really knew about Bruce Wayne, so, in a voice that she tried
to keep as flat as possible, although a certain hesitancy was
there despite her efforts, she asked, "Lois... I know you're his
friend, but Bruce is such a private person -- how do you know so
much about him?"

"Hey, I *am* an investigative reporter -- and a good one, even if
I do say so myself. You don't get far in that business without
being able to at least get a feel for what's going on inside
someone else's head." Lois grimaced oddly before continuing,
"Okay, so I messed up big time with Clark, but that just helped
me get better at it with everyone else. And, as I keep telling
you, Bruce is like Clark -- they're both unique, both driven in
their own way to go out there in costume and fight the good
fight, both liable to suffer for it.

"I can understand Bruce's pain, much more so than Clark can. He
grew up in a small town, with a wonderful mother and father; his
parents are the *best* people. Me, my family was the original
dysfunctional urban unit; I know what it's like to lose your

parents as a child. I was older than Bruce when Mom and Dad split
up, and my mother brought my sister Lucy and I up after Dad
finally left, but I'm not sure that Bruce wasn't better off with
his uncle and Mrs Chilton, and especially Alfred. So I can
appreciate, just a little, what he's gone through.

"On top of all that, like I said, I've been lucky enough to get
to know Bruce when he's not putting up a front. And, believe me,
I *know* about putting up fronts; ask Clark -- but not when I'm
around, please. So I can recognise when the real person emerges
>from underneath the mask and the playboy facade. And he's quite
a guy. If I didn't have Clark, you might have a rival...

"And don't kid yourself -- you *have* got rivals. Not for Bruce;
even the bimbos, bunnies and society gals have pretty much given
up on catching him by now. Though hope does spring eternal in the
human breast -- which is usually their most... outstanding
attribute.

"*Batman*, on the other hand... There are a couple of women out
there who take more than a passing interest in the guy with the
mask and the cape. Catwoman, for one; Poison Ivy; and then
there's this mystery woman, Talia, that Bruce has mentioned on
occasion. >From what little he's said, I'm not sure whether she's
a good guy or a bad one -- a bit of both, I think. But she's
definitely interested in him, and he's intrigued by her at the
very least...

"So if I were you, I'd make up my mind and get my skates on.
Superheroes are pretty rare birds -- or, in this case, bats --
and you don't want to lose *yours* to some other woman who's
prepared to throw herself at him. It nearly happened to me..."

Silver was momentarily distracted from her own concerns, taken
aback by this -- not the idea that she had one or more rivals for
Bruce, but that Lois could ever have been in any danger of losing
Clark. She had seen them together, and the love between them was
so strong and so obvious that it was a wonder that they weren't
permanently linked by a flower- and heart-covered steel cable.
The thought that *she* might also know a love like that sent a
thrill through her, but it was accompanied by a surge of
apprehension; could she bring herself to take the risk, and was
it still possible?

She cringed internally again, this time at the thought that she'd
blown her chance at something that she only now realised that she
wanted desperately. She felt a brief flash of anger at herself,
mixed with a surge of jealousy directed at those fancy women who
*dared* to covet her man -- her *Batman*! -- but it died quickly
in the face of her fears and a feeling of helplessness. She had
made her decision -- she was still afraid of what she was
contemplating, but Bruce was worth the risk -- but she didn't
know what to do about it.

"Lois... what do I do?" Silver asked, her voice filled with
anguish... and need. "I hurt him so badly... How can I tell him
that I was wrong? How can I make that up to him?" 'How do I make
him love me again?'

Lois smiled. 'All *right*!' she thought. 'Bruce Wayne, Look out!
The Lane-Kent Matchmaking Bureau has you in its sights!' She
leaned forward conspiratorially and beckoned Silver to join her.
"What we need," she said, "is a little advice from an expert --
an expert on Bruce Wayne. Fortunately, I just happen to know
one..." She picked up her cellphone before continuing, "...and my
husband is *really* good at arranging quick flights to Gotham
City."

'If I can convince him to co-operate, that is,' she thought, but
didn't say out loud.

***

Clark was going over the results of some research that Jimmy had
done for him when his desk phone rang. He picked it up and
answered, "Daily Planet, Clark Kent speaking," although most of
his attention was still on what he was reading.

"Hi, Clark," came Lois' voice from the receiver, "I'm at the
Hilton, room 1587. Can you get over here quickly -- *really*
quickly?"

Jimmy's research was suddenly completely forgotten; Lois asking
him to go somewhere "*really* quickly" was their private code for
Superman, which in turn could only mean Trouble. "I'm on my way,"
he replied, one hand already loosening his tie and the other
preparing to put the phone down.

However, before the receiver was in its cradle, Lois went on and
Clark's super-hearing picked up, "Don't worry, Clark; there's no
problem. Quite the opposite, in fact. But don't hang 'round,
okay?"

This had Clark totally mystified. He lifted the receiver and
replied, "Um... okay, Lois. See you shortly."

"Great. Love you." She rang off.

"Love you, too..." murmured a confused Clark, holding a dead
telephone. 'What the heck was that all about?' he wondered. Then,
realising the possible significance of where she was calling
from, he had an awful feeling that he knew what it was about. 'I
thought she'd given up on that.' But, since he always tried to be
fair, he considered the possibility that she *had* given up on
any potential matchmaking -- which only raised the mystifying
question of what *else* could be at the Metropolis Hilton that
required super-intervention but "wasn't a problem." 'Oh well,
there's one easy way to find out...'

He hung up the phone and headed for the stockroom.

***

A firm, brisk knock sounded on the door of Silver's room. Lois,
who'd been watching out the window, jumped slightly in surprise
and got up, saying, "That'll probably be Clark," and went to
answer the door. She looked through the peep-hole just in case it
wasn't him, but it was. However, she noticed two things about him
which had her a little concerned: first, he'd come to the door,
and as Clark; and second, he didn't look very happy. 'Oh-oh,' she
thought, 'Guess who's checked out the lay of the land with x-ray
vision. I don't think he's too pleased with me...'

She quickly decided that a bright, bouncy approach was her best
bet; it probably wouldn't work, but it just might take the edge
off his annoyance with her. Suiting her action to her plan, she
threw open the door and launched herself at him. "Hi,
sweetheart," she half-said, half-giggled before kissing him hard
and hustling him inside. He could have resisted, but her tactics
were successful insofar as they surprised and distracted him, and
he let himself be propelled into the hotel room without thinking
much about it -- he was too busy enjoying her hug and kiss.

Once inside, however, his brain began to work again and he
stiffened. He looked around the room -- 'just as if he hadn't
already done that before he came in,' Lois thought to herself
with an internal smile -- and, catching sight of Silver, went
over to her to say hello.

"Good morning, Ms St Cloud," he said. Silver murmured something
in reply and held out her hand. Clark noticed that her heart was
beating fast, and it jumped before increasing even further when
he shook hands with her. 'What's she so nervous about?' he
wondered. "It's good to see you again." He paused for a moment.
"I don't want to seem rude, but would you excuse Lois and I for a
few minutes?" 'While I find out just what is going on here...'

"Of course, Mr Kent," Silver replied, turning away and sitting
down with a magazine. Clark stepped back and headed towards Lois,
who was leaning against the wall by the door with a small smile
on her face. This outward cool-as-a-cucumber manner was at some
variance with her internal state of mind, and Lois was afraid
that Clark could tell this from her vital signs, but, as usual,
she wasn't going to admit to anything.

Clark took his wife by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. He
tried to glare at her, but he had never found that easy, and the
playful look in her eyes wasn't helping. "Okay, Lois," he
whispered forcefully, "just what are you up to? I thought you'd
satisfied your 'curiosity' about Ms St Cloud."

"I had..." she replied, quite unabashed, "...mostly. There was
just one or two things that I needed to talk to her about, and
then Perry heard about my cover story and *liked* the idea, so I
made an appointment to meet her here and we got talking, and it
wasn't long before the subject of Bruce came up -- and *she*
brought him up, not me-- No, wait a minute, I did, after all...
Anyway, one thing led to another, and pretty soon she was pouring
her heart out to me..." Lois' babble finally wound down, and she
looked up at Clark, whose attempt at a glare had collapsed
completely and become an amused, adoring gaze -- he did love her
so, babble and all.

Encouraged by this, Lois continued, "Look, Clark, all I did was
*talk* to her; she needed that, just like I did after I found out
you were Superman and you proposed to me. I haven't done anything
more than try to help her the way Martha helped me, and Jonathan
did with *you*."

"Ah..." said Clark. Lois had a point; someone in Silver's
position probably did need someone to talk to, and his wife was
about the best person -- the *only* person with that sort of
experience -- that she could find to discuss her feelings with.
Molly Maynne-Scott and Joan Garrick, with their decades-long
experience of a relationship with a superhero, might have been of
more help, but they weren't here. Besides, he could hardly object
to Lois doing what his mother had done -- not when it had worked
out so well for the two of *them*.

Something, though, was making him uneasy; lurking in the back of
his mind was the suspicion that he'd missed or forgotten
something, but he couldn't think what. He decided to let it
surface in its own good time and turned his attention back to his
wife. "Okay, Lois," he said ruefully, "You got me there. What is
it you want?"

Lois grinned wickedly, partly from relief and partly in triumph.
She hugged Clark again, saying, "Thank you," in a happy voice.
She reached up and pulled him down for a quick, intense kiss.
Then she let his head go, although she kept her arms around him,
and looked up at him as she went on quickly, "All you need to do
is take us to Gotham City. We need to talk to Alfred, and maybe
Dick; Silver thinks she's sorted out how she feels, but how does
Bruce feel about her after all this time? I have my own ideas,
after the way he acted last night, but Silver needs more than
that, and who better to ask than those two?"

"That's true," he said quietly. Any remaining objections that he
might have had to interfering in his friend's life were rapidly
fading -- or perhaps were being steamrollered by Lois' bubbly
enthusiasm -- because the "interference" came down to helping
someone who had been, and might again be, important to Bruce. It
might be sophistry, but the important point seemed to him to be
that the two potential partners were being, or would be, given a
choice. All Lois wanted to do -- 'at the moment,' he admitted
wryly was to find out what the current situation was; where
Silver and Bruce went from there was up to them, or it should be.
Of course, knowing her, Lois would probably come up with some way
to throw them together if Alfred's opinion was even
half-favourable, but for now, at least, he could go along with
her plans.

"Okay, so how do we do this?" he asked quietly -- too quietly for
Silver to hear. "Do I go and 'look for Superman', or what?"

"No, no -- no need. Silver knows."

"*What*?!" blurted Clark, caught completely off-guard. *That* was
what he should have seen before -- how would a woman who loved
Batman know to talk to *Lois* about it? "Lois-- you *didn't*?!--
I mean, she--"

"No, I didn't. She recognised you last night, which was one of
those reasons why I *had* to talk to her again. I had a feeling
about her from the way she acted last night, and I was right; she
saw right through you, farm boy -- and don't think that I don't
feel humiliated by that! This woman has the sharpest eye for a
jaw-line that I've ever heard of; those glasses didn't stand a
chance against Eagle-Eye St Cloud!"

Clark's eyebrows shot up, and he turned to look at the other
woman, who was sitting peacefully, reading her magazine, but he
said nothing; there was nothing *to* say. Lois went over to
Silver and said, "You ready? Clark just has to change, and then
we'll get going." She looked across to her husband. "Do your
thing, sweetheart. Time's a-wastin'..."

Just for a split-second, a long-suffering look flashed across
Clark's face. He had come to the conclusion some time ago that
Lois enjoyed showing him off to those very few people -- mostly
time travellers, other superheroes and their nearest and dearest
-- who could be trusted with the knowledge of his dual identity.
She particularly enjoyed their reactions to him changing into the
suit, and here was another person who hadn't seen his
"party-piece" yet...

'Oh, the heck with it,' he thought. 'Let Lois have her fun; it's
harmless -- I think...' He spun into the suit, perhaps a little
slower and more flamboyantly than usual, and stood still for a
few seconds in the classic, ultra-serious Superman pose, watching
Silver's astonished face and his wife's reaction -- a combination
of impish amusement at the other woman's amazed look and just a
hint of the same emotions herself; Clark was pretty sure that she
still found his identity switch thrilling, even after all the
times she'd seen him do it.

He smiled, hopefully breaking the spell, and walked over to the
women, offering each one a hand. "Shall we go?" he asked. They
both nodded without saying anything, and he reached around each
of them to get a secure grip, and they went.

***

The front door to Wayne Manor opened, revealing, as usual, the
immaculate figure of Alfred Pennyworth, butler, chauffeur, family
retainer, surrogate father and aide de camp to the master of the
estate. His normally imperturbable countenance brightened at the
sight of the man and woman on the doorstep, and he smiled as he
greeted them.

"Mr Kent! Mrs Ken-- Miss Lois," he hastily amended as Lois shook
her finger at him. He moved aside and the couple entered the
house, followed by their companion, who up till now had been
hidden from view behind Clark's broad figure. At the sight of
her, Alfred's eyebrows shot up and his archetypal British
sang-froid almost disappeared completely.

"Miss *St Cloud*?!" he exclaimed. "I-- it's very good to see you
again, miss..." He pulled himself together and bowed to Silver as
she stepped inside.

"It took me *years* to get Alfred to stop calling me 'Mrs Kent',"
Lois remarked conversationally to Silver as they crossed the
entrance hall. "He refused to call me 'Ms Lane' -- I think he
objects to the term 'Ms' on principle -- so we compromised on
'Miss Lois', although it is a strain for him to refer to a friend
of Bruce's so familiarly, poor dear."

Clark smiled at his wife's attempt to get her companion to relax,
as did the woman herself, unable to resist Lois' chatty asides.
The group went into the drawing room and Silver looked around at
the elegance of the decor. Her eyes widened. "Wow..." she
breathed. "I'd heard about Wayne Manor, but I didn't know that it
was like this..."

"Haven't you ever been here before?" asked Lois, disconcerted by
Silver's reaction.

"No... When I knew Bruce, he was living in the penthouse on top
of the Wayne Foundation building. That was nice enough, but it
was all modern furniture -- nothing like *this*..."

"Oh, right... That must have been while Dick was at Hudson
University." Lois looked over at Alfred for confirmation, and the
butler nodded almost imperceptibly. "You'll have to give Silver
the Grand Tour sometime, Alfred," she said, before turning to
Silver and continuing in a low voice, "This place is *really*
worth seeing--just make sure you wear comfortable shoes, because
it goes on and on and *on*, both upstairs and down below."

"I should be delighted," replied Alfred, who had caught Lois'
mention of "down below" and was wondering just what it meant.
Could she possibly mean the Bat-cave? If so, what did *that*
mean, and why was Miss St Cloud here? He hadn't seen a car
outside -- could Mr Kent have brought the two ladies here by air?
But that would mean that Miss St Cloud knew *Superman's* secret
identity as well as Batman's -- *what* was going on here?

"How may I help you?" he asked. "Unfortunately, Master Dick is
away" -- a euphemism for "out on a case" -- "and Mr Wayne is, of
course, in Metropolis."

"We know," said Lois. "That's why we're here. Alfred, we-- that
is, Silver -- needs your help. She still loves Bruce, and she's
finally decided that she can live with Batman. The question is,
how does Bruce feel about *her* these days? She'd like to get
back together with him, but we need a little advice as to whether
you think that's possible, and just how we might go about it."

"Ah..." Alfred's eyes narrowed slightly as he turned to regard
the blonde woman. Silver was staggered and would have recoiled
under the intense scrutiny of his eyes, which, normally politely
expressionless, were boring into her like gimlets, but she
rallied and stood her ground. She had let Lois take the lead in
approaching Alfred -- actually, it would have been difficult to
stop her new friend -- but now it was up to her, and her alone;
if Alfred could not be convinced that her change of heart was
genuine, then there was no point in even trying to rekindle her
relationship with Bruce. All she could do was face this man, who
knew the man she loved as no-one else did, and try to present her
feelings to him as the truth.

It seemed to work. Alfred's gaze softened and he walked over to
her. "If I may say so, miss, that is... wonderful news," he said
gently.

Silver's eyes were bright. So were Lois', and Clark reached out
and pulled her to his side with one long arm. The couple watched
as Silver looked in her handbag for a handkerchief, then accepted
one from Alfred. She wiped her eyes and looked at the butler,
smiling. "Thank you, Alfred."

"Thank *you*, miss..." he replied. He turned back to Lois and
Clark, a small smile on his face. "As to Mr Wayne's feelings, I
believe I know of something that should satisfy you on the
matter. If you would care to follow me..?"

Alfred led the way out of the drawing room, along a maze of
corridors, up a flight of stairs and along more corridors. As she
followed, Silver caught tantalising glimpses of other rooms in
the house through various doors; a *huge* library with thousands
of books; a billiard room; several luxurious bedrooms; a room
full of armour and weapons -- all spoke of great wealth and
comfort, but somehow they seemed... empty, sterile, in need of
life. She wondered if this might not reflect an aspect of their
owner, and she began to feel an unaccustomed excitement at the
challenge of turning this big house into a *home*. But then she
reined in her imagination: home-making was *way* in the future.
First she had to establish if there was any chance that she could
mend what she had broken three years ago.

Finally, Alfred led the trio of visitors into a small bedroom.
Only Clark had ever been in here before, and the two women were
shocked at how spartan the room was. In marked contrast to the
plush elegance of the rest of the house, the decor in this room
was basic, even rudimentary. No Louis XIV furniture here, no
velvet wallpaper, no deep-pile carpet -- no carpet at all, for
that matter. A polished wood floor, a simple, single wooden bed
and a few items of equally-modest furniture were all that could
be seen against a background of plain painted walls. Except for
the quality of the furniture, which was excellent despite its
simplicity, and the cleanliness of the room and everything in it
-- Alfred's work, no doubt -- this could have been a room in a
low-rent flophouse instead of the bedroom of a billionaire
playboy with a reputation as a ladies' man.

"This is Bruce's *bedroom*?" Lois exclaimed in amazement. "Oh,
Silver, you gotta do something about this! I don't believe this
-- the rest of the house is so... so beautiful, and he sleeps
*here*?"

"Lois..." Clark said quietly, "I think you're missing the point."
Lois turned to look at him, her eyebrows up and a
come-on-tell-me-already look on her face. "This is where Bruce
*sleeps* -- *when* he sleeps. I don't think he's ever felt the...
desire to do anything else here."

Both women looked at Alfred, who simply nodded. "This has been Mr
Wayne's room since he was a child," he said. "He has never wanted
to move out of it, particularly not into the master bedroom --
which, if the dust covers were off, I think you would find more
in keeping with the rest of the house.

"In fact, the only time that Master Bruce--" Alfred didn't notice
that he had unconsciously slipped into using the name by which he
referred to Bruce as a child, but both Lois and Clark picked up
on it and exchanged meaningful glances across the room. "--has
ever shown any interest in the master bedroom was three or so
years ago, while he was seeing you, miss."

Silver looked stunned. She stood, pale and silent, with one hand
raised to her breast, as Alfred moved over to a small bedside
cabinet and opened the bottom drawer. He took from it a flat
object, which Lois saw had been lying face-down in the drawer,
and passed it to Silver. "Do you remember this, miss?" Alfred
asked quietly.

Silver, already pale, went white. For a moment, it looked as
though she was going to faint, and Alfred went to help her, only
to find that Clark was there before him. Clark held Silver's
shoulders as she stared at what the butler had given her for a
long moment before raising huge eyes from it to meet Alfred's and
whisper, "He... he *kept* it?" as though that was the most
inconceivable thing on Earth.

"Yes, miss," Alfred replied gravely. "He could not bring himself
to throw it away. He kept it in this drawer, and it was some time
before he stopped taking it out to look at before retiring."

Silver's face crumpled and she buried it in her hands, the
mysterious object falling to the floor as she burst into tears.
Clark gently turned her to face him and held her as she sobbed
against him.

Lois moved over to Clark and picked up this somehow-so-important
thing. It turned out to be a photo-portrait of Silver, her hair
hanging loose and a brilliant smile on her face. On the photo
were the words, hand-written: "To Bruce. Love you always and all
ways. Silver."

Lois thought for a moment, then cried out triumphantly, "That's
*it*! Silver, that's it -- *that's* how we get you back with
Bruce!" Clark recognised the tone -- this was Lois Lane,
investigative reporter, figuring out another mystery -- and
looked at his wife expectantly.

Silver, not used to Lois' idiosyncrasies, merely looked surprised
at the other woman's enthusiasm, once she managed to raise her
head from Clark's chest. "What... what do you mean, Lois?" she
asked after a few fruitless attempts to speak.

"I mean I *know* how we do this! Come over here and I'll tell you
all about it. He won't have a chance if we do this right!"

Clark released Silver, who murmured her thanks to him and went
over to Lois, who was now sitting at a desk. She pulled up
another chair and the two women put their heads together, dark
hair to blonde hair, as Lois began to speak quietly but rapidly.
Before long, Silver's woebegone manner began to brighten, and she
even giggled once or twice.

"Is Miss Lois like this often, sir?" a bemused Alfred asked of
Clark, who was grinning at the spectacle of Lois deep in a
torturous planning session with Silver.

"A lot of the time, yes," Clark confirmed, "When she gets an idea
in her head." He was enjoying the sight of his wife doing what
she did so well. It felt a little unusual not to be the one with
whom she was weaving her plots, but he knew that she'd involve
him quickly enough if she thought that he could be of any help.

"Then I suppose we should give thanks that she is on the side of
the angels," was the dry reply before the butler smoothly retired
>from the room. Clark was left to laugh to himself and reflect
that, to him, Lois *was* an angel...

He was curious as to what she had in mind for his friend, but
hadn't been listening to the conversation; he figured that he
could convince Lois to tell him her plans eventually -- or at
least have fun trying.

Sure enough, she turned and waved him over. "Clark, come here,"
she called. "Look, I want you to take this to Jimmy and get him
to..."

***

Bruce Wayne walked along the corridor towards his suite in the
Metropolis Hilton. His shoulders drooped and his stride was
listless; the last session of the day at the conference had been
even more boring than usual, and the evening stretched out ahead
of him, promising nothing but still more boredom. He had been
looking forward to dinner with Lois and Clark in their townhouse,
followed by whatever they -- usually Lois -- had in mind for an
evening's relaxation, but his friends had left a message with the
hotel to say that they had to work that night. He toyed with the
idea of ringing them to ask if they minded if he tagged along --
stake-outs and the like were hardly new to *him*, and he would
have enjoyed the company -- but decided against it; whatever they
were involved with, it couldn't involve any serious criminal
activity or Clark would have called him.

Which left him at a loose end for the evening. Had he been at
home in Gotham City, it would have meant a night of patrolling,
looking for trouble, but, even though he had brought the
Bat-suit, he didn't feel like swinging around an unfamiliar city.
Nor did the usual "society" activities appeal to him; he was
certain that he could do the rounds of Metropolis' night-clubs
and find some suitable companionship, but the need to assume the
playboy role, with all its shallowness and insincerity, made him
feel slightly ill. 'I guess I was looking forward to some *real*
relaxation tonight,' he mused. 'And the alternative is just not
appealing by comparison. I wonder what's on TV...'

The thought of "companionship" made him even more depressed.
'Silver! Of all the people to run into -- and in Metropolis!' He
felt like Rick in "Casablanca" -- of all the conferences in all
the cities in all the world, he had to come to one that *she*
organised... He had kept his cool when he met her again -- except
for those few moments after Clark had saved her from that
ricochet--but the knowledge that she was somewhere in the same
building had been tormenting him all day. Seeing her, talking to
her, had brought it all back, and it still hurt. Somehow, she had
the power to touch him deep inside -- deep, *deep* inside, deeper
than any woman had ever been able to reach, deeper than
any*thing* had ever touched him since... since the death of his
parents, in that dark, accursed place now known as Crime Alley,
all those years ago...

He felt a sudden, sharp flare of anger -- at her, at himself, at
the world for, as he had put it three years ago, "going crazy
sometimes" -- and would have pounded the wall in frustration had
he been at home or even just alone. However, there were other
people in the corridor, so he suppressed the feeling and took out
his key to unlock the door to his suite.

He went in, his head bowed under the weight of his feelings and a
kind of mental fatigue. He closed the door and put on the privacy
chain. He was doing his best not to think of anything, and was,
in consequence, operating almost on automatic, so it was not
until he turned around, intending to take off his coat and tie,
and perhaps fix himself a drink from the bar, that he noticed the
addition to the living room's decor -- and froze in shock.

It was a giant -- easily 6 feet square -- blow-up of Silver's
portrait, complete with message and signature, and it rested
against the wall of the room next to the bedroom door. Bruce
stood there for a moment, stunned by its presence, then his eyes
narrowed and his whole demeanour changed. Although the only
outward sign was a grim expression, Bruce Wayne disappeared; it
was the Batman who stood by the door, seeking the meaning of this
intrusion. The lassitude of a few moments before had vanished, to
be replaced by an alertness that was almost tangible; his eyes
flicked across the room, back and forth, back and forth, but
missed nothing despite their rapid motion; his stance and body
language reflected that alertness, together with a readiness to
instantly leap into action. An observer who knew of Bruce's dual
identity might have been surprised to see that he hadn't sprouted
pointed ears.

A noise came from the bedroom, and Bruce dived for the shadows by
the door -- which, unfortunately, brought him up against the
portrait. It was a testimony to the almost inhuman self-control
that was a part of him, although it mostly came out in his
costumed guise, that he didn't scream in fury and tear the thing
apart. The original of that photograph was one of his most
treasured possessions, for all the pain associated with it, and
the thought that it had been taken from its resting place and...
*violated*, used to torture him in this way, filled him with a
rage only rivalled by that which stemmed from the death of his
parents.

The bedroom door opened, and the shadowed figure in the doorway
called out softly, "Bruce..?"

Bruce had tensed at the sound of the door and assumed an attack
posture; he was about to hurl himself at the intruder when he
recognised the voice. "*Silver*?!" he barked before he could stop
himself, "What the *hell*..."

She was startled by the sound of him, so close and so angry, and
she stepped back into the darkness of the bedroom. Bruce followed
her, charging through the doorway, diving past her in a perfect
shoulder-roll into the middle of the room, coming to rest near
the far wall in a excellent position from which to launch an
attack against anyone lying in wait behind the woman. But there
was no-one there -- no foe ready to strike, no henchmen, not a
soul save Silver St Cloud, silhouetted against the light from the
doorway.

There was something strange about her silhouette, though -- she
seemed to be wearing an odd sort of coat with no visible sleeves;
it fell from her shoulders to around knee-level, almost
shapeless, although the essential femininity of her excellent
figure was not hidden. It also featured a high collar that looked
as though it was padded, and a peculiar hemline--

Bruce was suddenly filled with a premonition of... revulsion?
Dread? Embarrassment? 'Oh, no. She *can't* have...' He moved to
the bedside lamp and switched it on.

She had. There, standing by the door, was Silver -- in a Batman
costume! The "collar" was revealed to be the cowl, thrown back
behind her neck and covered by the sweep of her hair, loose about
her shoulders, and the "coat" with the strange hemline was, of
course, the cape. But, finally seen in the light, the costume
really only resembled his in broad outline. For one thing, the
fabric was much softer than the unique semi-armour that he wore;
it was glossy and quite tight-fitting, and, even as he gaped at
the sight of it, Bruce reflected to himself that the tights
looked more like something Clark would wear -- except, of course,
that his friend had never had curves like *those*. The outfit was
also subtly, and not-so-subtly, feminine in cut, featuring, among
other distinctive touches, a low, scalloped neckline that
definitely was not part of *his* uniform.

He shook off his surprise, ignored the part of his mind that was
admiring the costume and the figure of the person wearing it, and
glared at her. "Would you mind telling me the meaning of this?"
he said coldly, almost viciously. "*And* the meaning of that...
that *thing* in the other room?"

"Bruce, we... It's been a long time." He nodded. "I... I wanted
to talk to you, and I thought... I thought that you might be
angry with me -- and you have every right to be. I guess it was
silly, but I thought that the costume might lighten the
atmosphere a bit... And, of course, *you* were in costume the
last time we spoke to each other -- *really* spoke, I mean; last
night doesn't count."

Her voice trailed off. This wasn't going well. He might have been
carved out of granite for all the effect her words were having.
She paused for a moment and changed tack. "Do you remember coming
to my apartment as Batman, that stormy night?"

He nodded again. His expression hadn't changed.

"You swung over and climbed in the bedroom window, and then you
asked me if I had wanted to tell you something the night before
at the conference hall. I said no, because I was afraid to say
*anything* to you. There you were, the Batman, a living legend...
but you were also Bruce Wayne, my boyfriend -- I didn't know what
to say, so all I could do was... not say anything."

She hesitated, and Bruce could see that she was struggling with
some powerful emotion -- probably fear. He wanted to go to her,
but he was wary; her fear could be because she was intended as a
distraction -- willing or unwilling -- for him, as part of a
trap. Again, his eyes scanned the room repeatedly, but found
nothing. Finally they came to rest on the figure of the woman in
the costume.

His gaze was even more difficult to withstand than Alfred's had
been, but she had gained strength from standing up to the older
man, and more from winning his approval, so she did not bend or
retreat under Bruce's scrutiny, but remained there, slim and
upright -- and, to Bruce, though she didn't know it, eminently
desirable, even in the silly costume. Eventually, she gathered
her resolve again and broke the silence: "I-- I do have something
to say to you this time, so... so, could you ask me again,
please?"

Bruce cast his mind back to that night. After their inconclusive
encounter, he had left and then rung the apartment from a phone
booth to cancel his date with Silver for that evening; she had
been relieved, begging off herself with a phoney story of
illness. He hadn't seen her again until they had met at the
building site a couple of days later, when she had broken off
their relationship. He now knew that she had driven out of town
that same night, presumably in order to think things over. Her
car had broken down on the highway, and she'd had something of a
minor adventure getting back to Gotham in time to see the end of
his battle with the Joker. But for all of that, the memory from
that time which stood out and remained fresh and clear, despite
his every attempt to eliminate it, was their confrontation in
Silver's bedroom, he in his costume and she in... 'God, it was a
*towel*, wasn't it?' So it was not at all hard for him to
remember his words of three years before.

"Silver St Cloud," he quoted, his voice unconsciously assuming
the deeper pitch that went with the Bat-suit, "I thought you had
something to tell me last night."

"Bruce... Batman..." Her voice trailed away. She had so much that
she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. It wasn't that
she couldn't think what to say, not this time, but she couldn't
find a way to start. She wanted desperately to have *said* it
all, for him to know and to understand how she felt, but getting
there from where she was at the moment was suddenly a gigantic
obstacle.

Searching for inspiration, she went over to the bedside table and
picked up the original of the huge photograph in the other room,
looked at it for a long moment in silence then came towards
Bruce, holding it out to him. He took it from her gently as she
bowed her head and said, "I gave you this because I wanted you to
have... a small piece of me, to be with you every day. I had
begun to hope that you might eventually want *all* of me, but you
had a reputation as a confirmed bachelor who was allergic to the
idea of any sort of long-term commitment, let alone marriage.
Somehow, though, that didn't seem to match up with the man I
knew.

"I spent a long time deciding what to write on the photo; I went
through *dozens* of sheets of paper, trying to come up with a
message that would tell you how I felt without scaring you off.
In the end, I decided that the best thing to do was to just come
out and say that I loved you. I made it into a bit of a joke, to
keep things light and airy in case it was too soon and you
bolted, but I meant every word. I meant it then, and, I've come
to realise over the last two days... I still mean it now."

She raised her head and looked deeply into his eyes, her own wide
and bright, filled with emotion welling up from the depths of her
soul. Bruce felt as though he was on the verge of falling into
them as Silver kept speaking, her voice now tinged with passion
and desperation as she finally came to the words that she *had*
to say, regardless of the consequences. "I love you, Bruce. I've
never stopped loving you. I guess I... just forgot some important
things about what I wrote back then."

He said nothing, but his expression had been softening as he
listened. It had lost the hardness and aggression that was there
when he dived into the room, and was now close to being
completely blank. There was, however, almost in spite of himself,
a hint of sympathy in the quirk of one eyebrow as he waited for
her to go on.

"I was overwhelmed by finding out that you were Batman, and
everything that that meant, and I... didn't know if my love could
help me deal with that. And... I forgot about the word 'all'.
It's such a small word, but it can mean so much. Meeting you
again, I've had to face myself and my feelings, and I realise now
that I *do* love you -- *all* of you, both with the cape and
without -- and I *want* to love you, in all the ways that I can,
for all the rest of my life.

"Bruce, I know I hurt you very deeply... but if there's any way
that I can make it up to you, then please believe that I want to,
with all my heart. Tell me, please -- is there any way that we
could be what we were to each other three years ago?"

Bruce said nothing and did nothing for a long time, simply
looking at Silver with eyes that were no longer probing; instead,
they were thoughtful but gave absolutely no indication of what
their owner was thinking about, nor of any decision that he might
be making. Silver stood there, equally silent and motionless,
waiting. She had no way to know what would happen now, and so she
did her best not to think of anything, simply awaiting the man's
reaction.

Finally, he spoke, quietly and reflectively. "Silver... I don't
think we *can* go back to where we were three years ago." He
paused for a moment. "We're not the same people that we were
then. We've gone through separation and a great deal of
unhappiness, and all the other things that come with spending
three years apart. We're never going to get back to the early
days of our relationship, to that first 'fine, careless
rapture'."

She slumped forward, her whole posture radiating defeat, but he
wasn't finished. "But we *could* try to be something else to one
another. Something that might have grown out of that first
rapture. Something much deeper and longer-lasting. We just won't
be able to get there by the same route. I'd like to try..."

She looked up again, hope and joy racing through her like fire,
and saw in his face the manliness and charm that had first
attracted her, and the honesty and decency that had made her
doubt the playboy facade and try to look beneath it, although she
had had no idea of all that she was going to find there. There
could be no doubt that he meant what he was saying. For his part,
her expression silently shouted to him that she wanted to try,
too, but there was also a hint of uncertainty as to just how to
go about it. He reached out and took her hand. "Let's get out of
here, for a start. We need to talk, a lot, in private, but a
bedroom is... inappropriate at the moment, to say the least. It's
not exactly haute cuisine, but how do you feel about room service
for dinner?"

Her eyes sparkled. "You're on, big spender. I'm famished." It was
another quote -- something she had said the last time that they
had had lunch together, a few hours before the Batman had come
crashing through a skylight into the Gotham Exhibition Hall after
a murderous gunman and she had recognised his jaw as belonging to
Bruce Wayne.

He also remembered what she had said that day, and laughed before
responding in kind: "Only for you, Silver my dear..." Then his
face screwed itself into a wince. "But could you *please* change
out of that costume?" Silver giggled and nodded.

They left the bedroom, hand in hand, smiling.

***

Clark pushed his glasses back up, and an impatient Lois sitting
at his feet struggled not to scream at him. "*Well*?!"

"I think it went okay," he said, sitting back in his armchair in
their townhouse. "They left the bedroom holding hands, and I'm
sure that I saw Bruce laugh. It looks to me like they're going to
spend the evening talking -- and *we* know how important that can
be -- so I'm going to leave them to it. I have no doubt that
we'll hear all about it from one or other of them, so let's let
them get on with it, *privately*." He looked at his wife sternly,
but with a twinkle in his eyes that told her that he wasn't
angry, just determined on this point.

"Okay, okay..." she sighed. "But I wish you really *could* read
lips the way you used to tell me you could. I don't suppose your
hearing gizmo will work, this far away?" She looked at him,
hopefully.

"No," he replied, firmly squashing her hopes of eavesdropping.
"Even if I could hear their conversation from here -- and I
*can't*, because there's half the city, with all its noise,
between me and them, and they're hardly calling out for help -- I
*wouldn't*, because it's none of my business! I hope Bruce and
Silver sort things out as much as you do, but it's up to *them*,
and we can't do anything more to help them."

"I guess you're right..." murmured Lois, standing up. "So, I
suppose that I'll just have to find something else to do
tonight... Any suggestions?"

"One, at the very least," said Clark, pulling her onto his lap.

Lois smiled mischievously and snuggled up to him. "Tell me more,
farm boy..." she purred.

***

Epilogue: Six months later...

"Don't you just *love* a big roaring fire on a winter's night?"
said Lois happily, gazing into the bright flames lighting up the
drawing room from the huge fireplace. Clark, sitting next to her
on the plush couch, said nothing but tightened his grip on her.
She "mmm"-ed with contentment and laid her head on his shoulder.

The occupants of the other end of the enormous couch were equally
close to one another, but Silver was sitting in Bruce's lap with
her long legs stretched out towards Lois and Clark. Her head was
very close to Bruce's, and every so often one of them would say
something that the other couple couldn't hear -- or *wouldn't*,
in Clark's case -- and they would both smile, which would usually
lead to a kiss -- a quick, gentle smooch, a deep, passionate
toe-curler or anything in between, as the mood took them.

"Look at them," whispered Clark, kissing Lois' hair. She lifted
her head slightly, which allowed her husband to move his mouth
down the side of her face. She wriggled with pleasure as he
gently ran it around her ear, then gently pushed him away by
putting two fingers to his lips.

"Yeah..." she replied quietly, "Isn't it nice to see other people
as happy as we are?"

"*Very* nice. Especially when they're such good friends. Bruce is
more relaxed these days than I've ever seen him, even in costume,
and Silver has just... blossomed. I think they needed each other,
but didn't realise it themselves or were too stubborn to admit it
like another couple I could mention..." He gently turned her face
to him and kissed her thoroughly.

"So, I did good, huh?" Lois teased after they came up for air.

"Yes, my little matchmaker," Clark sighed with mock resignation.
"You did good."

He would have said more -- he had thought of a joke about Dick
being nervous around her these days in case she decided to fix
*him* up with someone -- but he was interrupted by a sight which,
although he had seen it before, never failed to impress, and
sometimes even startle him: two bright beams of light shone into
the room from fixtures mounted on the eaves of the house, and the
Bat-signal, reflected from the night sky, appeared on the wall
over the fireplace.

Bruce saw it, too, and gently lifted Silver from his lap, setting
her down on the couch beside himself before getting up and
turning back to her for a brief kiss.

"Go on, you two," said Silver. "You're wanted. We'll be here when
you get back..."

"And we *will* be back," murmured Clark to Lois as *he* stood up
and then leaned back down to rest his forehead momentarily on
hers.

"I know," she said, kissing him softly. "Now, go! The quicker
you're gone, the sooner you'll *get* back. Silver and I will be
fine right here."

Bruce headed for the study and the grandfather clock, Clark right
behind him. Lois watched them leave the room and snorted to
herself. "Men! They know that they're going to leave, but they
won't get on with it!"

"Would you have it any other way?" said Silver, one eyebrow
cocked.

"Not really," Lois admitted. "If they *have* to go -- and they do
then I guess it's a good thing that they don't want to. Except,
of course, that they *do* want to, they just don't want to have
to leave *us* to go do the hero thing. It's a pity that they
can't timetable bad guys or disasters... you know, 10:45 -- stop
bank robbery; 11:00 -- save the world; 12:00 -- have lunch with
wife." She stopped for a second, looking a little embarrassed.
"Am I babbling?"

Silver laughed. "I suppose so. Does it matter? Anyway, Lois, with
the men gone, there's something I've been meaning to ask you for
ages. When you were bawling me out that day at the Hilton, you
mentioned that *you* were Ultra Woman?" At Lois' nod, she asked
eagerly, "How did *that* happen?"

"Oh..." said Lois, embarrassed again. "Well, it all started one
morning at work. Clark and I had just escaped from Tim and Amber
Lake's zoo, and they'd been arrested for kidnapping and
murder..."

THE END